


shit from my wip folder that i probably wont finish

by regionals



Category: Fall Out Boy, Glee, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: ill update the tags as i post, sorry to any glee fans who want a long fic for glee out of me lol, theres ONE oneshot in here from glee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 298,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7247395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regionals/pseuds/regionals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i think the title is pretty self explanatory</p><p>edit: the only reason i posted this is because i thought people might enjoy reading them/seeing like. shit that couldve potentially happened in some of my other fics. just... btw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> im so mad because some of these??? they have potential but its always been so long since ive touched them so i never know where to pick up for what i was gonna do omfg i might finish the first chapter because its interesting but idk where itd go

**Written 4/2/16.**

 

**BRENDON**

**ONE**

 

**.:introduction:.**

 

High school turns into hell rather quickly. By your sophomore year, you've figured out that you're bisexual, but with a heavy preference for men, and that your parents would probably think you're just gay if you were to tell them. Telling them was out of the question, though. You come from a family of Mormons, like, the really gross kind of Mormon, and you don't want to imagine what would happen if you were to let the news slip.

By the second semester of your sophomore year, you've met Pete Wentz, who is apparently a big name in the music scene of your town. He knows a few people, you get introduced to them, and it doesn't take long for you to get sucked into the scene. You're mostly going to shows, and only performing on the rare occasion that Pete or one of his buddies are in need of a vocalist on short notice.

The shows aren't great. Like, they're _really_ not great, but that doesn't mean you don't have fun, and that you don't make any friends. Honestly, you have the time of your fucking life whenever you're at shows, whether they're in shitty, overheated, sweaty basements, or it's just ten or twenty people in a fucking coffee shop or something. It's always just _fun,_ and you enjoy it.

 

**.:start:.**

 

“Patrick, I _really_ don't want to be here.” It's cold, your left nut is probably about to fall off due to frostbite, and Patrick has dragged you to some seedy part of Chicago in the middle of the fucking night to go to some concert with a bunch of bands you've never heard of.

“I don't care. I need someone with me. Joe's busy, Andy's in fucking Milwaukee, I have no clue where Gabe's gotten off to, and don't even get me started on Tyler's skinny ass.”

“Tyler's probably with Josh, dude. It's a given,” You rub your hands together, and look around. Patrick's been glued to his phone, texting _someone,_ trying to get the location of the show. You didn't hesitate to flip him shit over not even knowing where the damn show was in the first place, but he'd blown you off. (Not before giving you the middle finger, though.) “Will you hurry up? I'm about ready to walk home.”

“Keep your pants on, Tiger,” He grumbles under his breath; “Look, we're like, a block away. It's probably a three minute walk from here. You'll live.” For a guy who's barely 5'2” and has less muscle tone than a soggy noodle, Patrick sure does have a talent in holding your bicep with a grip of steel and pretty much dragging your lanky ass along with him.

The show is shitty. Like, really shitty. The bands suck. Patrick seems to know this, but he looks excited and _alive._ You can see why. The sweaty basement the two of you, plus fifty other people, are crammed in is just overflowing with _passion_ and _fire._ It's sounds corny, sure, but that's the truth. You can even feel some of that passion start to slide its way through your skin, into your bones, then finally, your _soul._

It's just… exciting. That's it. That's the word. _Excited._ You're _excited._ After the show, you're all smiles and sunshine, and Patrick has a mildly shit-eating look on his face. “It was fun, right?”

“Fuck yeah!” Your voice cracks a bit as you exclaim this, and Patrick just pats you on the shoulder before leading you off to introduce you to one of his friends.

The friend he introduces you to... well, he's weird. Actually, he's probably not weird, but he comes on a little strong. He's maybe an inch or two taller than Patrick, but you can tell he's far older than either of you. (Patrick's a year older than you.) He looks like he _should_ be fifteen, but his voice and the lack of baby fat in his face gives him away. The hair threw you off. Rightfully so, though. He looked like he was fresh out of MySpace.

He shakes your hand with a grip something fierce, and smiles at you with teeth that look just a little too straight and white. His eyes have that same spark of passion that you'd seen in Patrick's earlier, and he's a little mesmerizing. The two of you go through introductions, and then he gets to the questioning. Patrick had made an offhand comment earlier about how Pete was a little invasive and didn't have a brain-to-mouth filter, and that you shouldn't be bothered by him, but that didn't change the fact it was just a _little_ off-putting.

He asks you about why you're there, why you stuck around in that sweaty basement, and you tell him you'd just tagged along with Patrick. He talks to you about music, the cultural relevance of certain bands, and you end up breaking down Foreigner's _Jukebox Hero_ with Patrick and Pete. By the time you leave, it's three, you have a new number in your phone, and you've made a friend out of someone who apparently has even more friends in high places.

 

This all happens in late January.

 

Come March, you've been caught with your pants down at Patrick's house. By that, you mean that Pete had pretty much materialized and had caught you belting out Foreigner lyrics, which pretty much made him come in his pants. “Dude, why didn't you tell me you could sing?” His eyes are wide, and his mouth is agape.

You try to change the subject away from the fact that he thinks you can _sing,_ and as to why the _fuck_ he's in Patrick's house.

“It doesn't matter; I pretty much live here. Answer the question, dude!”

“I… didn't know I could?”

You can see Patrick standing off to the side with a look that says, “Are you fucking kidding me, dude?”

Pete just stands there in shock, and you slowly move around him to go get yourself some water, praying he drops the subject. As of late, though, a lot of your prayers have gone unanswered, and Pete _doesn't_ drop the subject. “Brendon, dude, look—I know a guy who needs a vocalist. It's short notice, but you should do it.”

“No.”

“Please-”

“I said 'no,' now drop it.”

“I'll give you a hundred bucks.”

At that, your head whips towards him, and it's _your_ turn to be shocked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, dude, of course.”

You scan his face, and he seems to be telling the truth, so you say, “Call me a whore, because I'm your man.”

You hear Patrick cough, “Sell-out,” from the other room.

 

You're a little relieved that you're only needed for the one night, because you don't know how you would've dealt with performing like that every single night. It was too hot, you could barely hear yourself _think,_ and you ended up having to improvise after forgetting a few verses of one of the songs you were supposed to sing. No one notices, or really even cares, though.

One of the guys in the band slips you a twenty, then Pete gives you two twenties, one fifty, and three tens once you're outside of the 'venue.' (Read as: shitty basement in someone's house.)

Your voice is raw, and you shouldn't be so _happy_ about this, but you _are_ for some weird reason. You never want to do it again, but it was fun anyways. Pete's driving you and Patrick to Patrick's house, and he's going on and on about how good you did and how fucking _awesome_ it was, and you're _kind of_ ignoring him in favor of thinking about it for yourself.


	2. the sugar daddy AU im never going to finish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I WANT TO FINISH THIS BUT I KNOW I WONT :'(

**Note: Despite being second person, this isn't a reader insert.**

 

**Josh**

 

Tyler Joseph ends up being a blessing. You met him a few years ago at some party, and the two of you formed a casual friendship. You texted him once in a while, and he sent you jokes sometimes. At some point, you needed _help._ Like, financial help.

The short version of the story is that he found out about your need of assistance as far as money goes, but the long version of that event is that one of your friends, you don't know _who,_ said something to him about it, and although the friend didn't intend for Tyler to do anything about it since they were literally just gossiping, Tyler still ends up showing up at your apartment for no fucking reason at seven in the morning on a fucking _Sunday._

You're tired and a little miffed when you open the door to find him standing there in his stupid Prada suit and his dumb wool coat that's just a little too big for him. It's cold as hell, and his nose is red, so instead of telling him to go home, you step aside and let him in.

You grab an energy drink from your fridge, since you're too tired and too lazy to attempt making coffee, before looking him dead in the eye, and asking, “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

He raises his eyebrows and blinks at you. “What do you need?”

“I'm—I'm sorry?”

“Answer me.”

 _Is he for real?_ “What are you even talking about?”

“One of your friends told me you're dick deep in debt.”

 _“Oh my god._ Who told you that?”

“It's not important, so answer me.”

“I either need a decent job or a miracle. Why do you even care?” You brush past him on the way to your shitty little living room.

He follows you, and stands next to your couch, staring you down as he asks, “How deep in debt are you?”

“Why do you care? I barely even talk to you.”

“Will you just answer my fucking questions?”

“You're in _my_ apartment, so watch your tongue, dude. A couple hundred grand.”

“How and why are you that deep in debt?” He's just a little exasperated. Just a bit.

“Student loans and just loans in general. I'm also dangerously close to be evicted, and left with no place to go. Again, why do you care?”

“I can help you.”

 _“Really?”_ You're trying not to sound too condescending or sarcastic. “What do you want in exchange? We barely know each other, so you don't have a reason to do this.”

“I'm sure I can figure out a few things. Look, I have shit to do today, so if you're interested,” he hands you a slip of paper with his address written down, “feel free to drop in any time between five and ten.” He adjusts his tie a little bit before just walking out of your apartment.

 

You spend a few days trying to decide on what to do, before saying 'fuck it' after finally getting an eviction notice in the mail.

His house, honestly, is fucking glamorous. The second you're in his neighborhood, you start to guess on what he was getting at by offering to 'help.' You're not _sure,_ but you have a pretty good guess.

You stand on his porch for a good five minutes or so before finally pressing the doorbell. It's one of those fancy doorbells, and, okay, you start to actually believe your guess. You knew he had enough money to afford name brand clothes, and judging by his house and the doorbell, you figure it's safe to say that he's fucking _loaded._

He opens the door, and doesn't even look at you as he walks away, presumably to a different part of the house. You close the door, and stand there awkwardly for a minute or two, before you hear him say, “Follow me, dude.”

 _Jesus. He probably has some weird sex dungeon. I shouldn't even be here. I don't_ know _him._ His house is… well, it's nice. The walls are white, and the whole thing in general is very spacious, what with the high ceilings and decent lighting. The color scheme is tasteful too. It's a typical one, but most of his furniture is either beige or light brown.

The room you end up in is just… It's an office. “I'm doing work, and I can't take a break, so you're talking to me while I do that.” He still doesn't look at you as he sits down at his desk. His mahogany desk. You start having flashbacks to the Hunger Games movies. _Fuckin' Effie._

There's a couch on the other side of the room, so you sit there, awkwardly and stiffly, not really sure what to say. “Uh. I got an eviction notice.”

“And? Why are you here?”

“You said I should come here if I was interested in the offer, so here I am. I don't really have any other options. I got kicked out a few years ago and no one I know would be willing to do anything for me. I have shitty friends.” You sigh, and say, “Sorry about running my mouth,” a few minutes later.

“It's fine. I know people who do worse. How old are you?”

You furrow your brows a bit. You don't really see what your age has to do with anything, but you still answer him. “Twenty three. Can I ask how old you are, or…?”

“Twenty seven. Barely.” He scrubs his hands down his face, and pops his back before spinning around in his office chair to face you. “I'll pay off your debt and let you live here if you can do a few things for me.”

 _Oh god._ “Alright. Uh. What—what kind of things?”

“I'm not interested in sex, so get that look off your face. I get invited to a lot of parties and movie premieres, along with a bunch of other events, and I need arm candy. I also need someone who _wont_ rip me off or trash my house when I'm away on business trips. Basically, if you'll sit down, shut up, and be pretty whenever I need you to, and if you'll house sit, I'll pay off your debt, let you spend my money, plus let you live here.”

“Is that _it_?”

“I mean, I wouldn't be particularly adverse to hanging out with you, since you seem like a chill guy, but that's up to you I guess.” He shrugs. He turns back around to resume paperwork, and asks, “What degree are you working towards?”

“I dropped out. I, uh, couldn't really take the stress of balancing both college and a job at the same time. I was thinking about economics, English, or business administration. Never really got the chance to actually decide, of course.”

“What's your logic on those choices?”

You furrow your brows a bit. You're pretty sure he's trying to make conversation with you. “Economics could be useful and beneficial, but English would be easier, and business administration would qualify me for a lot of jobs, so I don't know. I mean, I could go for all _three_ degrees, but _fuck_ that. I hate school anyways. Also, can I ask why you said I could spend your money or whatever?”

“I have way more money than I know what to do with, so I might as well not let it go to waste I guess.”

“Oh. Are you an actor or something?”

He snorts. “If I was an actor I wouldn't be living in a house like this. I'd probably still be living in New York in some broom closet of an apartment. I've dabbled in it, though. I'm a manager-slash-talent representative. I've got a couple of pretty big clients, and they're most of my income I guess.” He shrugs. Huh. “Also, uh, do you know any other languages besides English?”

That question kind of surprises you. “Uh, yeah. Japanese. My dad—like—he has family in Japan or whatever, and we used to go there a lot, so I ended up having to learn it.”

His head pops up, and he spins around _super_ fast. “Can you read Japanese?”

“I can speak and read it. I'm, like, pretty fluent I guess.”

“Alright, one more condition to this deal is that you come with me whenever I have to go to Japan. I can speak it, but I can't read it. If you translate for me, I will be _eternally_ grateful.”

“I mean, you're kind of saving my life here, so that's the least I could do. Man, I don't really know you, so sorry if I'm coming on a bit strong with the questions, but do _you_ know any other languages aside from English and Japanese?”

“Italian, French, and Arabic. Italian and French out of convenience since I go to either country a lot, and Arabic because of my dad's family. They're all Lebanese, and it's easier to sit through dinner with them when I can actually understand what they're all saying.”

“Fair enough.”

 

Within two weeks, you've moved in with some man you barely even know. Also, to top off your forever growing pile of shit, you get fired from your shitty job at some record store. If you didn't feel bad enough having to basically have a sugar daddy but without the sex, well, this make it at _least_ ten times worse.


	3. the fake relationship au that had potential

**Fake Relationship AU**

  


**Note: Despite being in second person, this isn’t a reader insert.**

  


**Tyler**

  


“Oh, Josh, for fuck’s sake. Are you _sure_ this is a good idea? One hundred percent _sure?”_

“Dude, no, I’m never sure if my ideas are good. This’ll probably end up blowing up in my face, but at the moment I don’t give a shit about the long term. I just need my family off my back, alright?” He’s frazzled, and he’s been pacing all around your fucking condo, trying to convince you to pretend to be his boyfriend for some family reunion.

He’s gay, and he told his parents a month or two ago. They asked him if he had a boyfriend, and he dug himself into a fucking hole by saying that, yes, he has a boyfriend.

You’ve been friends with him for about five years, but you’ve never met his family before, and he figures that it’ll be more convincing if it was _you,_ since either of you are already best friends. You have to admit that he has a point, and honestly, you can’t say no to him. He has this one look that always makes you buckle, give in to whatever he needs, and you’re pretty sure he’s well aware of it and uses it to his advantage whenever he needs something from you.

“ _Fine._ One condition, though.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll do it. You’re basically my god right now.”

You huff and shake your head. “Treat me like a prince.”

You get an exasperated look out of him. “Who do you think I am? Of _course_ I’ll do that.”

He gets a shake of the head out of you before you tell him to sit his ass down next to you on your couch so the two of you can _finally_ resume binge watching Breaking Bad.

  


You have a few beers in you when you ask, “Josh? How do I be gay?”

He starts laughing quietly. “I forget you’re straight sometimes. Just like… Act how you do with girls but do that with me.”

“So, what; do we kiss? Hold hands? Hug?”

“Whatever makes it convincing. I know you’re not going to fly to Columbus, stay for a day, then fly back to Los Angeles, so either you’re coughing up the money to stay in a hotel since I can’t afford it, _or_ we’re staying with my parents for a week. Meaning we’ve got to keep the charade up for at least a week.”

  


Even later in the night, you have an idea that’s probably going to end up being, like, really bad. “How long do we have until we have to leave?”

“Two weeks.”

“Okay, look—we need to practice this. As a publicist, it's literally my job to lie through my teeth, but you can't do that without practice, and, let's be real; you're horrible at lying. This is—this is literally my job. A publicity stunt. Except you're not a celebrity.”

“Big words, my dude. How do you want to 'practice?'”

“… I didn't actually think about that.”

He gives you a look, then makes a suggestion. “Wanna make out?”

You're pretty sure he's kidding, judging by the look on his face, but you're competitive by nature, and you like one-upping everyone you know, so you say, “Sure. Might as well since we have to keep it up for a week anyways.”

 

You're a little bit of a control freak, and kissing Josh is just so fucking weird. For one thing, he's a dude, and you're not used to feeling stubble, his lips aren't soft, but rather chapped, not to mention the fact that he doesn't have lipstick, lip gloss, or chap stick on his lips. You've kissed a lot of _girls,_ but never any boys, so you're way out of your element, without a clue on what the hell you're doing. Girls are so _soft_ and _gentle,_ but he's… Well, he's not necessarily rough, but he isn't gentle and he isn't soft.

You're also used to leading, but _he's_ leading, and it's just weird. It's kind of awkward, too, since you're fumbling a bit. He's so _smooth_ and _experienced._ You feel like you're fourteen again, making out with your first girlfriend, and trying not to fuck it up. You're twenty seven yet a fucking twenty three year old has the upper hand on you in terms of experience. Your superiority complex is having a _fit_ right now.

Eventually you push him away from you to ask, “What the _fuck_ do I do with my hands?”

He snorts and tries not to smile. “What do you normally do with your hands with you're kissing someone?”

“Man, I don't know. I haven't kissed anyone in two years.”

“Do you want to stop?”

You take a few moments to think of a response. Do you want to stop? You'll be blunt with yourself; nope. You don't want to stop. You haven't so much as touched someone in a few years, and despite being a bit of a dick, you like affection. Well, that's the excuse you tell yourself at least. You're glad that it's two in the morning, and that the only light in the room is from the TV, since he can't see how red your face is as you put a hand on the back of his neck as politely as possible to pull him over for another kiss. You're just hungry for affection. That's it. That's all that's going on.

 

Two days after the make out session, you're trying to catch up on Orange is the New Black with Josh. He's laying on his back with his head turned towards the TV, and you're totally not curled into his side, and you're _totally_ not super close to falling asleep because, he's like, super warm, and you're super cold. You're also dead tired in the first place, though. This—you pretty much cuddling with him on the couch—isn't one of the pretend gay things. It happens almost all the time anyways.

He lives with you, after his apartment complex burned down two years ago. It was supposed to be temporary, but it ended up being permanent, because, hey, you enjoy having another person in the house. Or condo. Same thing. It gets lonely when you live alone and don't have a lot of friends. Added, he knows how to cook things that require more than a microwave. (You don't make him pay rent, but he tries to chip in with bills, or groceries, when he can, even though you tell him it's fine. He also keeps the place clean, which you used to do in the first place, but there's two hours in between the time he gets home from work and the time _you_ get home from work, so he apparently takes advantage of it.)

When you adjust your position to where you're even closer to him, with your head on his chest, an arm thrown across it, and one of your legs over his, he teases you a bit.

“Dude, I'm cold.”

“Your fault for wearing a t-shirt and basketball shorts.”

You grunt and put one of your cold hands on his face. He yelps, out of shock, because he apparently wasn't expecting an ice cube in the form of your hand to touch his face.

“How are you even alive? Jesus.” He ends up holding the hand that was on his face in an attempt to keep it warm, and your face totally doesn't burn up at least a little bit. He moves one of his legs to feel one of your feet, then makes another remark. “Okay, you're definitely dead, dude. Your feet are about as cold as your damn hands. It's _September_ in California. _How_ are you cold?”

“Josh, I'm always cold. Don't doubt my ability to be cold. Also, the air conditioner is up a little higher than I usually keep it and I'm, like, way too lazy to go fix it.”

“Well, at least I'm here for you to put your cold feet on.”

You nod your head and pat his chest. “You're a good friend.”

The two of you end up falling asleep, only to wake up after Josh falls off the couch, and takes you with him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idk about this one

**blurry - 12:38 AM June 12th, 2012.**

hi, new account. my name isn't actually blurry. that would kind of be a dumb name. no offense if anyone is actually named blurry.

i made this account because i need somewhere to talk about what's going on in my life without dealing with the anxiety of the prying eyes of my friends.

i love them and all, but there's some things i can't share with them.

this is an introduction post, so let me get a few things out of the way.

im 17, im gay, and im struggling. by struggling, i mean that there's something wrong with my head. i dont know what's wrong with my head, but there's something that's off.

something isn't right, and i cant go to my parents and i feel like i cant trust my friends, even though logically i know i probably can.

-blurry.

 

**blurry - 1:27 AM June 12th, 2012.**

now that the introduction post is over and done with, i can get into the good stuff. if that's how you want to phrase it, at least.

june 11th was a weird day for me. a monday, if you can't remember, or if you're reading this in the future and can't bother to look at the calendar on your phone or your computer or whatever other device you may or may not be using. maybe this website wont even be around. who knows.

the day was kind of hazy. i don't remember a whole lot of it. i felt as if i was going through the motions, and my head feels blurry. no pun intended. maybe not blurry. more like fuzzy, like there's television static going through my head. i got up, made myself some coffee, then walked to a convenience store to buy an energy drink. you might say that i'm a little obsessed with caffeine, but that's all in the details. maybe it's an addiction, who knows. it wouldn't surprise me.

i ended up leaving the convenience store with a phone number belonging to a cute boy with eyes matching the color of my coffee, which wasn't the strongest brew, and hair matching the color of a red cabbage. yes, he had cabbage hair. it was a pretty shade, actually. it must've been freshly dyed, given the darkness of the color. i hope it looks cool when it fades.

cute boy out of the way though. i need to get started on the rest of my day. i sat in front of the television in my room all day, playing skyrim, before i was yelled at to get started on chores. im 17. i dont know why i even have chores. i mean, i do, i guess, since that's how my parents work, but i have three siblings. why cant they do anything? spoiled assholes. (they aren't assholes. theyre all nice. except for zack. he's a bit of a dick, but i love him. he's my brother and all.) after my chores were finished, i laid on my back on the grass in my backyard, staring at the sky, and wondering if there were any other people or beings out there in space. wondered if we were alone. i doubt we are, what with the vastness of outer space and all.

i don't know where im going with this. i think i might send eggplant hair a text message.

ill be back on friday with a rundown of my week.

-blurry.

 

**blurry - 4:00 PM June 15th, 2012.**

this week was an alright week. i mean, i managed to keep my usual tendencies under control, for the most part, so ill count that as an accomplishment. i've been going to the convenience store every morning to chat with eggplant hair (why did i go from calling him cabbage hair to eggplant hair? im not sure.) since the store tended to be pretty desolate in the morning. he's really nice to me, and he bought my energy drink for me today. we've been talking a little bit over SMS too. he likes some of the same bands and tv shows that i do, and he's into some of the same video games as well. 

i still feel a little off as far as my head health goes. it's not as bad as it was monday or tuesday, so it's something. i guess. i dont know where im going with this again. sorry for taking up anyones time.

-blurry.

 

**blurry - 6:08 PM June 22nd, 2012.**

to the anonymous question, asking about eggplant hair. i want to remain anonymous as well, so i wont give out his name. it starts with a 'j' though. his hair has faded just a little bit, and it's more of a... royal purple? though i think royal purple and eggplant purple are about the same shade. it's lighter, at the least lol. hes a little taller than me and kind of buff and has a very soft voice. i think. i cant remember, my head is foggy again.

this week was worse than last week. i only went to the convenience store three days, and i ended up sleeping for most of it. thats why im glad its summer. i can sleep without having to worry, aside from getting yelled at about chores. i hate when i get startled awake. whenever im startled awake, my heart races the rest of the day. i had a hard time doing chores, and i couldnt quite focus. i literally wanted to die. i considered it too, sometimes. that's--that's not a good thing, obviously, but im here to talk about my feelings or whatever. ive heard that talking about feelings can be very cathertic and therapeutic, so whatever.

im going to talk to J on skype tonight, so ill be back next friday. goodnight to all seventeen of you that follow me.

-blurry.

 

**blurry - 4:17 AM June 24th, 2012.**

sorry sorry sorry i promised to hold off on an update until the 29th but i just. one of my friends he tried killing himself and i dont know how to handle it thats the one thing ive been trying not to do ive been really trying but then he tried and i dont know how to handle it i feel so bad that i didnt pick up on it or how he was feeling i feel so bad i feel so bad why couldnt i have helped why do i feel such a strong overwhelming need to fix everything. hes not my responsibility and i dont even talk to him that much but he tried he tried he tried fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck i hope hes ok hes in the hospital right now one of my other friends called me she's at my house right now and we're in my room trying to keep calm this is such a mess fuckfuckfuckfuck

edit: to the anonymous question. it's not J. hes fine. i talked to him about it though, since i feel like i can trust him. he just told me to stay calm and to offer my support when and where i can. 

-blurry.

 

**blurry - 3:20 AM August 28th, 2012.**

im okay. im sorry about not updating. the past month has been weird. ive been hanging around with the friend who attempted. hes ok too. im sorry if i worried anyone.

ive been really depressed as of late too. 

school starts in a few hours, and im not sure if im ready to deal with it. eggplant hair is apparently going to be going to my school. his hair is more of a lilac shade by now. he washes it obsessively so it faded i guess. he has almost the same schedule as me, save for choir. hes in band instead of choir.

anyways i cant sleep. J cant sleep either. weve been talking, and trying to avoid being caught by our parents. his parents are almost as strict as mine are, apparently. i feel bad for him. no one deserves parents so strict. i think i do, possibly.

i called J crying a few nights ago. i think i was having a panic attack im not sure. he told me to breath though and he talked to me about his day. it was calming kind of to listen to him speak. his voice is calming as is his presence. i think i might have a crush on him but you didnt hear that from me lol. anyways im going to try and get maybe an hour of sleep or something.

thank you all for the concern, and hello to the actually large quantity of new followers. what are you guys doing here? goodnight. i hope each and every one of you is sleeping soundly right now, and not being kept up by your thoughts and fears.

-blurry.

 

**blurry - 1:18 PM August 28th, 2012.**

j is so good. like hes a good person. b (one of my friends; hes kind of an asshole but hes like my older brother, even though im actually older than him) ditched me at lunch for some tall guy he thought was cute. d sits on the other side of me in my first period class, and i dont blame b for being smitten, but its like, its the first day of school, asshole. i need my buddy to sit with me at lunch. j sat with me though and weve been having a good conversation. im in advisory right now and the teacher gave us permission to be on our phones.

j is sitting next to me and hes sleeping somehow. he just--he threw his hood on, then put his head down on his binder, and hes just... hes asleep. he told me to wake him up a few minutes before class ended. he looks so peaceful sleeping though so i dont want to disturb him, but he asked me to, so i have to i guess. :( 

b keeps tossing crumpled up bits of paper at me, and i dont know why. i dont want to give him the attention because im bitter about lunch. "t, come on, we gotta talk." thats what hes been whisper yelling at me. 

yes whisper yelling is a thing lol. all in all though today has been pretty ok.


	5. the inuyasha au that's really messy that i might actually finish but if i do its going to be wildly different from this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what it reads on the tin  
> anyways 14k of just. shit. pure shit.   
> this is like a very very very very very very very rough draft

**this is so... bad. its so. not polished. this is probably gonna get finished but its gonn be wildly different. anyways demon josh? sign me up im hard!**

 

**Tyler**

 

God, you're so pissed off right now. You don't want to be here. It's been a few months, and yet you still don't want to be in _Japan._ There wasn't any helping it, though. Your father had a job offer that he absolutely could not turn down, and since, at the time, you were fourteen, you didn't have a choice but to move with your family. Your new house—it's not much. You do get your own room, since you're the oldest, thankfully, but the entire place is just _small._ You hate it.

You're too tall for everything, since everyone in Japan is apparently the size of a toddler, and, just, look—you didn't mean to get into your current predicament, alright? When you get mad, you like to take walks, and explore. Walking is better for you to do anyways, rather than something dumb or dangerous.

After you get back from your walk, you don't really feel like going inside _quite yet,_ so you decide to poke around the shrine that's on the property. Yes, there's a fucking _shrine_ where you live. Your parents own a shrine. They take cultural appropriation to a whole new level. Or, well, your mother does, at least. Your father is at least Buddhist.

There's also some tree, too. Your father likes to tell you tons of stories about the _thousand year old sacred tree,_ and, honestly, you just—you think he's full of shit. He has a bunch of other stories too, most of them being religious in nature, about random artifacts that are laying around the house, or the shrine, or, well, basically anything else he can get his hands on.

Point is, you didn't believe any of it.

Until today.

 

The shrine is a small place. It's literally a wooden structure with a dirt floor, and a closed off well smack dab in the center of it. You were content to just sit on the floor, next to the door, to think, but you heard scratching noises. Thinking that it might be your cat, you make your way down the rickety stairs in the place, but once you get closer to the center, to the _well,_ you realize the scratching noises are coming from _inside_ of it, which should be impossible.

There's a few thudding noises, and all you can let out is a quiet, “What the fuck...” under your breath before there's this… this bright _light,_ then the boards are flying off of the closed off well, and there's this _thing_ sprouting up from it. Or things. Plural.

Whatever they are, they grab you, and the next thing you know, you're being scooped up and pulled into the well. You scream, and you yell, but then there's a hand on your mouth as your surroundings morph from the stone walls of the well to literally the universe. You don't know how else to describe it. There's like… there's things that look like stars surrounding you. Universe seems like the proper term to use here.

There's apparently three pairs of hands holding you, and they turn you around. You honestly don't know what you were expecting, if anything, but it… it wasn't what you saw. You're greeted with a face full of some humanoid creature with three pairs of arms, two pairs of eyes, and ruby red lips, not to mention black hair that flows from it's head for probably miles. Okay, not miles, but it's hair is at least five feet long.

You screech the second the hand is removed, but it returns immediately, and then it… it starts fucking _talking._ Yes, it starts talking. You pray you're dreaming, having some nightmare, but somewhere inside, you don't think you are.

“You have it, don't you? _Give it to me.”_

A long, gross, slimy tongue stretches out from it's mouth, and licks the side of your face as you're being pulled closer to the being, and also down even further into the well. You start struggling, swearing, and saying, “Let go of me!” before managing to slap your hand right onto it's forehead.

You weren't expecting it to do much, but this bright, pinkish-white light erupts from your damn hand, and the creature kind of just goes flying backwards, whispering, “I must have the jewel,” and only leaving behind an arm, which is gripping one of yours pretty tightly.

Yes, you get left with a severed arm. A. Severed. Arm.

 

You find yourself falling flat on your ass a few seconds later, and you sit there for a few minutes, hyperventilating, before muttering, “I must've… I must've just fallen into the well. That's it. Nothing weird happened. I just fell into the well. I probably bumped my head on the way down.”

You turn around and see the arm.

“… or not.” You also notice that your own arm is hurting from the grip the severed one had on it, so, yeah, you probably didn't hit your head. You yell for your father, then your mother, then each of your siblings, but after getting no response, you write them all off as dead before climbing out of the well your damn self.

You're good at climbing in the first place, but convenient vines definitely don't hurt. When you're about half way up, you see a fucking _butterfly. “Okay, there aren't even any flowers near the shrine. Why the hell is there a butterfly here?”_

You just shake your head, and continue climbing.

You _finally_ manage to get your head over the top of the well, only to be greeted with grass and trees. There's a little clearing containing the well, then everywhere else you look is just… _trees._ You've never hated trees more than you have in this moment.

Trying not to fall back into the well from pure shock, you tumble over the edge, and you lay on your back for maybe half an hour, you think, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on, before _finally_ standing up and picking a direction to walk in. Maybe you'll find someone to tell you where you're at. Totally reasonable.

You walk for another twenty minutes before seeing what you think is the coveted thousand year old tree your dad never shuts up about. That dumb tree. You've never been happier to see the damn thing. You trip on your way through a few bushes to make sure that you're right, and that it is the tree, and, look, you _are_ right, but there's some _guy_ on the tree.

There's a bunch of roots, or something, coming up from the ground, holding him there, and you see an arrow through the dude's heart. You must be high. You figure that, if you're just high, then it couldn't hurt to try to stand on a few of the roots to get a better look at him.

You'll be frank. The guy? He's gorgeous. He has a mop of black hair on his head, and his tanned, slightly freckled skin is way too smooth and perfect, especially considering he looks to be about the same age you are. You stare at him curiously, before noticing what you can only assume are cat ears. You also assume that they're fake, but when you give in to the urge to touch them, you learn that they are, in fact, very real.

You get maybe a second or two to recover after touching the ears before you turn around to see about twenty men, all armed with bows and arrows, ready to shoot you at any second. A man in the front of the group yells, “Get away from there!” in Japanese, but you barely recognize it, since the guy is speaking in a dialect that you haven't heard before.

Eventually, you get grabbed, and you find yourself with your hands and feet bound, with a _lot_ of people surrounding you. You hear murmurs about your clothes, a few people ask if you're a foreigner, which, obviously, you are, given that you're not Japanese, but rather _Lebanese,_ and, alright, you're scared shitless at this point. “Um. I—I don't think I need to be tied up…?” You don't say it loud enough for anyone to hear, but you say it.

Someone else suggests that you're a demon, and you _almost_ laugh, since it sounds like something your dad would say. Suddenly, people are shutting up, and sobering, and someone's yelling something about making way for a _priestess._ An old lady approaches, using some long as hell bow as a walker. She has an eye patch, and if you weren't bound, or scared out of your mind, you probably would've made a joke about pirates.

She gives you a once over, then starts throwing fucking _salt_ at you, saying stuff along the lines of, “Begone, demon!”

You kick as best as you can, trying to squirm away, shouting, “I'm not a demon!” back at her. You get confused looks, and it's then that you realize you'd yelled it in English. You repeat yourself, slowly, in Japanese.

“Then why were you found in that _forest?”_

You don't even get the chance to respond before the old woman has a hand gripping your chin, and examining your face very closely. She says something else that's ridiculously vague, before she's telling the guy who'd bound you to, well, unbound your hands and feet.

 

After the sun falls, you find yourself in what you can only describe as a hut, dimly lit by a few torches on the walls. Yes, torches. The old lady is stirring something in a pot, and the next thing you know, you're being offered a bowl of stew. At that moment, you realize you're hungry, so you take the bowl, and thank her. Profusely.

You look around yourself warily as you struggle to eat bits of meat with chopsticks. You still have no idea where the hell you are, and, actually, now that you think about it, this stew could be poisoned. That wouldn't surprise you, what with all of the other bullshit events of the day. _God, my parents are going to kill me for being gone so long._

The old lady starts speaking after fixing herself a bowl of the stew. “Please, forgive us, child.” _Child? I'm fifteen._ “Although we now understand that you mean no harm, you can't particularly blame us for being weary during times of war.”

“Um… do you… do you know where Tokyo is?”

The lady blinks. “Tokyo? I don't believe I've heard of it. Is that… where you're from?”

 _No, I'm from Ohio. Or Lebanon, if you want to reach back to when I was an infant._ “Uh… yeah, sure. I guess that means I should be going…?” _Not that I have any idea how to get back, of course._

You get one more piece of meat into your mouth before the ground is shaking, and crashing noises are heard from outside of the hut. Either of you rush outside, only to see the thing that'd yanked you into the well hours earlier, literally, surrounding the village. You almost throw up when you see that it's carrying the carcass of a horse, presumably that of one it had eaten.

Once it sees you, though, the carcass is forgotten, and it's scurrying towards you, it's centipede lower half working furiously, commanding, _“Give me the jewel!”_ just as it had been earlier.

You dodge it, and the old lady asks, “Do you have the sacred jewel?!” in an incredulous tone.

“No? I don't even know what the hell it is! I've heard of it, but I don't _have_ it.”

You get cut off by the creature, though. It's saying something else about a fucking jewel, then it comes writhing towards you, faster than anything you've seen before. You manage to dodge it, yet again, then the old lady says something about having to lure it to the _well._ The one you climbed out of. Seems easy enough.

“Which way's the forest?!” You're looking around, but you only get to for a few moments before seeing some weird, bright aura kind of light from, y'know, a forest. “It's where the light's coming from, right?”

You don't catch the look the old lady gives you, because you're running as fast as you can towards it, towards the forest, towards the _well_.

You trip along the way a few times, and as you're drawing closer to the forest, you sense _something,_ although you're not sure what it is. You don't have time to focus on it, though, since you're still running for your fucking life. You end up cutting through the clearing with the tree and the boy on your way back to the well, but in all of your totally not gracious glory, you trip, and slide across it, landing at the feet of _the boy._

Who is awake, and saying, _“Elliot,”_ in probably one of the most venomous tones you've ever heard out of anyone. “You playing with bugs now?”

You slowly look up to him, to see amber eyes looking, probably, into your fucking _soul._ His face is contorted into a pretty scary frown that ends up turning into some weird, smug look, when you ask, “You're _alive?”_

“Why are you fucking _around?_ Kill it! Kill it like you _tried_ to kill _me._ ”

You give him a dumbfounded look.

He calls you out on it. “You're lookin' pretty dumb there, _Elliot._ I thought it was against everything you believed in to _waste time.”_

You mutter, “Oh, for _fuck's_ sake,” before standing up, and yelling, “My name isn't _fucking Elliot._ I don't know who the hell this _Elliot_ is, or who the hell _you_ are, but my name isn't _Elliot._ It's _Tyler._ _ **Ty**_ _._ _ **Ler**_ _.”_

He scoffs quietly, but suddenly he's looking up, _sniffing,_ and saying, “It's here.”

He looks almost _amused_ as the centipede monster comes shooting down from one of the trees, trying to grab at you, only to be stopped by four spears with ropes attached, which pull it away from you. You thank whatever god might or might not exist for those damn spears, and for the men from that village conveniently showing up to help out.

You hear a quick remark of, “You're pathetic, Elliot,” from the boy, causing you to snap your head towards him.

“Fuck you! How many times do I have to tell you— _I'm not Elliot._ I don't know what you're on about, but I'm _telling you,_ I'm _not Elliot._ I don't even know who _Elliot_ is.” You're up and stomping towards the tree now, stepping back up the roots holding him to it.

“And, I'm telling you that you _have_ to be him. If you're _not,_ then how the _hell_ do you smell so—” he sniffs you, then _frowns;_ “Oh. You're… you're not him.”

“Yeah, no fucking shit, _asshole._ I'm _Tyler.”_

“Well, obviously.” His voice is quieter, as if to not let anyone else hear. “Elliot was much cuter anyways.”

You _scoff._ You're about to tell him off, but suddenly there's five hands grabbing you, and trying to pull you backwards. You grab the thing nearest to you, which happens to be the boy's hair. You're yelling for the centipede monster to let go of you, and the boy is yelling at you to let go of his hair. Which you're not going to do. He can stand to lose a few strands of hair if it means you're not going to die by the hands of that _thing._

(Vaguely, through the sounds of either you or the boy yelling, you hear a few of the men from the village yelling about _Him_ reviving, and wondering how the hell that could've even happened.)

 _“_ _Give me the sacred jewel!”_ And there it goes, the centipede monster talking about the dumb jewel that you know nothing about, _again,_ as if you have it somehow.

The boy's face suddenly looks stern and focused, as he looks you in the eye. A second ago, he was pretty much screaming at you to let go of his hair, and now he seems not to give a shit. _Is this about whatever jewel that monster is talking about?_ You don't any time to consider his face, since there's a _mouth_ going towards you, one belonging to the centipede monster. You curse, and you fling your hand out towards it, praying that whatever happened in the well earlier will happen here, and, _thankfully,_ it does happen.

Three more of its arms fall off.

As if on cue, you feel this searing, burning pain in your left side, before you see this _light_ glowing from the exact some place as the pain, and the centipede monster comes scurrying towards you again, except this time, its mouth actually makes contact with you, right where the light is coming from. You scream bloody murder, loud and hard enough that you'll be surprised if you don't lose your voice.

You're flung into the air, and in the midst of blood, most likely coming from your body, you catch sight of a _jewel._ You pray to god that that's the jewel the monster was talking about, and you pray that, after this, it leaves you alone. You also pray that you don't die.

Everything is happening way too fast, honestly. The next thing you know, the centipede monster is wrapping its body around _you,_ and the _tree,_ and the _boy._ You're pressed flushed against the guy, or, you would be, if it weren't for the roots and the arrow binding him to the tree.

The centipede monster speaks again. “I _heard_ there was a _half-demon_ after the _jewel.”_

The boy looks the monster dead in the eye, saying, “Yeah, well, half's all I need to _kick your ass.”_

You move your head backwards enough to make eye contact. _“Really?_ You talk big, but can you _actually_ take that thing down?”

“Huh?” He looks slightly puzzled.

“You heard me. Can you _actually_ do it, or are you bluffing?”

“He can't do _shit,_ pinned there like that,” the monster replies.

You make a dumb decision, probably, by saying, “I didn't ask _you.”_

The monster doesn't even acknowledge you. “You're _both_ powerless to stop me.” And then it just… it eats the fucking jewel. It straight up just swallows it whole, laughing maniacally the whole damn time.

The boy shouts at the monster next. “Hey, spit that out! That ain't yours!” He glowers down at you next. “It swallowed the _jewel.”_

The grip its body has around you, the tree, and the boy tightens, and you swear. “Fuck. It's crushing me.”

“Hey… do you think… you could pull out this arrow?”

 _“_ _What?”_ You look up at him, again. That's about all you can do in this situation.

“You fucking heard me. Can you pull it out or not?”

“I… I guess?” You reach up, and although the old lady from earlier is yelling at you not to, you just—you do it. You pull the damn arrow out of his chest, on the off chance it could save your life.

Just before you do, though, the boy shouts, “Shut up, _hag!_ At least with _me,_ y'all have a chance to _survive.”_

As you pull the arrow out, it disintegrates into glowing, pink dust, that gets lost in the wind. The thing you'd sensed earlier is back, and this time it feels as if it's pulsing, washing over you in waves. “Uh… _Sir?”_ You don't really know what else to call this boy, since you don't know his name. Even though he looks your age, 'Sir' just seems appropriate.

The boy laughs, and breaks free from the roots almost immediately, with inhuman strength. You find yourself being thrown back down to the ground with a _thud_ and a yelp. You watch in _awe_ as the boy takes down the centipede monster in almost one go. You noticed that he had claws, but you didn't think they were powerful nor strong enough to take down a _monster._

The old lady comes up to you, and nudges your shoulder. “Quickly. You need to find the glowing piece of flesh, and retrieve the jewel, or Mistress Centipede will _revive.”_

Mostly to yourself, you ask, “You have to be fucking kidding me,” as you haul yourself up to look for, y'know, the apparently glowing piece of flesh. You don't know why she couldn't have found it, if it's apparently glowing. It doesn't take you long to spot it, so you point towards it, and the old lady walks over, managing to retrieve it quickly. It gets handed to you. “Uh.” _I don't want it._

“You're the only one who can be trusted to possess this.” You look into her brown eyes, trying to find _something_ other than sincerity, but, sadly, you fail.

“How… did this even get inside my body? _Why_ was it there? Why would I have some _jewel_ wanted by _demons?_ ”

The boy walks up to the two of you, stepping on part of the centipede monster on his way, saying, “My point _exactly._ You're a human, so you don't have any use for it. Hand it over _now,_ and I _won't_ tear you apart with my claws. _”_

 _Um._ You look at the boy in shock. _Christ. Someone's cranky._ The old lady stands between the two of you, trying to protect you. No offense to her at all, but you don't believe she'd really be able to do much to protect you, other than give the boy a dirty look. _So, he saves everyone, now he wants to screw us over. What an asshole._

The boy starts running at you, so you do what comes naturally: you get the fuck away. And then you trip over part of the centipede monster's body, luckily, though, that happens just as the boy takes a swipe at you with his claws. “Do you want me to _scratch your back?”_

Great. He's basically a fuck boy. That was the worst pun. “You… you really tried to kill me just now, didn't you?”

A bunch of arrows come flying at him, but they don't even pierce his clothes. Speaking of, he's wearing an outfit made of all black. He looks like an emo. He has black hair and he's wearing all black. You don't reckon that anyone knows what an emo is, but you're tempted to tell him. You think better of it, obviously.

Anyways, his clothes have to be bulletproof or something, because, how the hell are arrows not piercing them? He's wearing some weird robe, that reaches down to almost his knees, over what looks like a sweater, then he has on black pants. They aren't jeans, but they don't look like leggings either. They're tight as hell, though, then, last but not least, a simple pair of black shoes. But not quite. They don't look quite like the shoes you usually see, or at least the ones on your feet. They're kind of like _slippers._

He's threatening everyone now. “I'll kill _all_ of you if _that one,”_ you get gestured at, “doesn't give me the jewel.”

You don't waste anymore time gawking at him, because you're pretty sure he's being serious. You get up again, and start running, and, as expected, he's chasing you, and telling you to get ready to _fight,_ before taking another swipe at you with his claws. You manage to dodge it, thankfully.

The swipe of his claws leaves three, long gashes in the earth behind you, and the momentum of _that_ knocks you over for the thousandth time that night, and sends the jewel flying a good ten or twenty feet in front of you.

Just as he's bending down to pick it up, a bunch of glowing beads come flying, making themselves at home around his neck, then the old lady is telling you to say some word of subjugation.

“What the fuck am I even supposed to say?!” You shout at her as you start running again, jewel in hand. You seriously have no idea how she's managing to keep up with you, what with as much as you're running.

“It doesn't matter! Just say _something!”_

You really, really want to kill whatever higher power is fucking with you right now, especially as the ground beneath you gives way, and you go flying forwards, and, once again, toss the jewel way in front of you. You sit up a little bit, and, _once a fucking gain,_ the boy is near the jewel, getting ready to pick it up. You just say the first thing that comes to mind, and it's, _“Down!”_

The necklace glows for a split second, then it's dragging him to the ground with a pretty loud _thump._ He grunts, and gives you a dirty look as you take a step closer. He tries to get up, but you just bark the word at him again, and again, every single time he tries getting up.

Once you snatch the jewel up, you allow the boy to at _least_ sit up. He tries taking the necklace off, cursing, and asking what the hell it is.

Somewhere from at least forty feet back, the lady is yelling, “ _Unfortunately,_ Josh, even _you_ lack the power to remove it.”

The boy, Josh, stands up, and shouts back at her. “Yeah, well, we'll see! I'll get it off!” He tries once more, and grunts, before stomping his foot on the ground. “Y'know, if you didn't look half dead already, I'd go over there and finish you off!”

You cross your arms, and give Josh a raised eyebrows kind of look. His face pretty much just pales, and he tries begging, but it's no use, especially when you're saying, _“Down.”_

You almost feel bad, but you almost want to laugh as the noise he lets out. It's ridiculous. You do feel a little bad, though, when he goes tumbling into the fast moving river below, the one that carries him down stream almost immediately. You decide not to question it though as you make your way back to the old lady and the rest of the people.

 

“You guys are already rebuilding the houses that the centipede monster wrecked? Jeez… Seems like a pain in the ass,” You mutter as the wound in your side is getting treated.

“Mhm, it's… a pain, for sure. It must be done, though.”

You nod.

“Honestly, now that the _jewel_ is back among the living, far, _far_ worse creatures are going to try claiming it.”

“There's _worse_ things?”

“Yes. And not all of them are going to be demons. There will be humans, as well. Humans… some of us are _evil._ If the jewel were to get into the wrong person's hands, well, it would not be good. The jewel has the power to grant _one_ wish to humans, and demons, not to mention making demons considerably more powerful, even without making a petty wish.”

You grunt in acknowledgment, before frowning, and turning to look at _Josh._ “Speaking of _petty,_ why are _you_ still here?”

He's sitting Indian style, with his hands clasped almost politely in his lap, looking you dead in the eye. _“I'm_ waiting for you to give me the damn jewel, and to take this _thing_ off of my neck.”

You roll your eyes. “Tough luck, asshole. You're not getting the jewel, and I'm not taking the beads off. If I take the beads off, you'd probably kill me, and I don't particularly trust you in the first place.”

“His threat _is_ greatly diminished with the beads,” The lady says, under her breath, as she finishes putting a bandage over your wound, and handing you your shirt, which has apparently been washed to the best of her abilities.

You thank her, and she allows you to give her a quick hug before you slip your shirt back on. “Hey, Josh? Why _do_ you want the jewel anyways? You seem strong enough as it is. Why do you want anything _more_ than that?”

As the lady is using you to stable herself as she stands up, she informs you of the following information: “He is but a half demon. The jewel could turn him into a _full_ demon.”

Josh _literally_ punches his damn fist through the floor. “Why the fuck did you _tell_ him? Man, I'm tired of you acting like you _know_ me. You just barely met me.”

The lady hmphs, and you give Josh a look before saying, “Down,” again.

“ _Apparently,_ you don't remember, do you, Josh?”

With a dirty look thrown your way, Josh picks himself up, and follows her as she walks away. You take that as a cue to tail them as well. “Remember _what?”_

The lady is, apparently, _Elliot's_ younger sister. You still have no idea who that guy is, or why Josh was calling you that name yesterday. Maybe finding out who the guy is could explain why everyone kept looking at you with vague recognition flashing in their eyes. “You remember Elliot, don't you? The man who bound you to that tree?”

“Of _course_ I remember him. You're the brat that used to follow him around?”

“Fifty years have passed since then, Josh.”

“Shit. If you're _that_ old, El has to be pushing a hundred by now. At least _I_ don't have to worry about getting old. Or, well, at least for a while, anyways…”

“Elliot didn't get the _chance_ to worry. He _died.”_

 _Oh, shit._ You feel like you're watching a movie, honestly. _If Josh was bound to that tree for fifty years, maybe that explains why he's so angry with that Elliot guy, and with everyone else. I mean, you'd figure that being bound to that tree felt like it happened a few days ago to him, rather than fifty years. He hasn't had time to get over it._

“Sorry to hear.” He doesn't sound sorry in the slightest as he takes another seat on the floor. You sit about four feet away from him, with your knees pulled to your chest. “It's not as if I really care or anything.”

You look at him, mouth slightly open in the way it does whenever you get ready to say the word 'down' and he gives you a warning look. Honestly, you're in control here, so he makes the wise decision to shut up.

“I wouldn't quit worrying quite yet, Josh. You see, Tyler here,” she waves her hand towards you slightly, “is the reincarnation of my brother.”

“Uh. Pardon?” _I mean, she does kind of look like Madison. Like, a really,_ really _old version of Madison._

“I'm not just saying that because you _resemble_ him either. The Jewel of Four Souls was in _your_ body. That, in and of itself, is proof enough, considering the jewel was burned with my brother's body when he died.” You're also informed that it's _your_ responsibility to look after the jewel, and to protect it.

 

Later in the day, as you walk around the village, you can hear people gossiping about you, and talking, since, apparently, this Elliot guy was a big name around the village. People keep bowing towards you whenever you walk past as well, and it's so _weird._ You're just some punk-ass fifteen year old. People don't need to be bowing towards you. _Japanese culture is weird._ _Though, you'd have to figure that to them, Americans are pretty strange as well._

 

You find Josh sitting high up in a tree at some point, and you throw a fruit up at him as hard as you can. He catches it with ease, without so much as sparing you a glance. “You should eat, dude.”

You go to repeat yourself in Japanese, since you'd said it in English, but he cuts you off. _“Finally,_ someone who knows _English.”_

 _Oh, thank god._ You hate having to translate from English to Japanese in your head. It, literally, gives you a headache. “Yeah, um… I'm… I'm from somewhere that speaks English. I know how to speak Arabic too?” You shrug.

He clicks his tongue and jumps down from the tree. He seems a little nicer, now, honestly. “Don't know a lick of Arabic. Sorry, kid.” _We're the same age, asshole._ “Where'd you get all this stuff anyways?” He's taking a bag from where it's at on your shoulder, looking inside of it.

“Some of the people in the village gave this stuff to me.” You shrug. Again.

“Huh.” He goes to sit down at the base of the tree, and you make yourself at home a few feet away from him. You start eating a pear as you look around, taking in the scenery. Everything is so _beautiful,_ green, and _serene._ You think that, maybe, it's because there aren't a bunch of buildings or cars or factories around. _I think I might be in the past. Not sure yet._ When you look back over to Josh, you see that he's staring at you, with a perplexed look on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don't _trust_ you. What if you poison me?”

“Really? Where the hell would I get the things to _poison_ you? And what incentive would I have anyways? Just—look—I know we don't like each other, but whatever grudge you have against that Elliot guy, you need to get over it. _I'm not Elliot._ I'm _Tyler._ We don't have to like each other, but can we call a truce or something?”

“You're just trying to lure me into a false sense of security, especially since _you_ know that _I'm_ only after the jewel.”

“What are you going on about? I just have to say _'down'_ and you'll obey me.” _Thwump._ “Oops. Sorry.”

“Fuck you.”

 

That night, you manage to actually get a little bit of shut-eye, even with Josh sitting nearby, staring at you. You ask him to go away at some point, but he claims that he has to watch over the _jewel,_ to make sure that nothing happens to it. Honestly, you think he wants to watch you, since you kind of suspect he had a thing, like, a romantic thing with whoever the fuck _Elliot_ was.

As you're falling asleep, you think about how worried your family has to be. Your mom? Dad? Your brothers? Your sister? You feel bad, but you don't know how to get back to them. You think the thing you want most right now is a shower and a hot meal.

 

You wake up to a rooster crowing, and you groan, because you're pretty sure you're not going to be able to get any more sleep. After you eat a few more fruits, you slip your shoes and your dirty clothes on, deciding to venture off in search of the well. You figure that the well would probably be the key to getting back home, because, hey, it's where you'd come out of.

You walk through the forest, trying to skip over any dug up roots that you can, and you come to the realization that you have horrible luck the second you get your eyes on the well, because there's three men surrounding you. One of them has a hand over your mouth, and is holding you back, as the other two tie your hands and feet up.

You get carried to a hut that's slightly nicer than the one you'd spent the past few days in. As you're thrown to the floor, one of the men yells, “Hey! Boss! We've got the kid?”

You look around, to see more men in the room. Some of them are giving you predatory looks, but, for the most part, they're stony and cold, arms all crossed and way too huffy. You feel a hand on your ass at some point, and you manage to roll over and kick at the guy who'd had his hand there. “Quit that!” _I'm not letting that happen. Nope._

You think these are the kind of men who are going to take what they want, when they want, and they'll use _anyone_ to do whatever they need. “What's the matter? Are our hands too dirty for ya?” One of them taunts. Another one of them does you a favor, probably an unintentional one, by unbounding you, and you _immediately_ back yourself against a wall, trying to give them all the dirtiest look you can muster.

You hear a deep voice that sounds slightly off, saying, “Hand over the jewel, _now,”_ before a skyscraper of a man comes walking out of the shadows. He just… he seems _off._ He's stumbling a little bit, and his eyes seem to not really be focusing on anything.

You really hate this damn jewel, and you don't know why you're the one who has to protect it. You don't know why someone else can't do it.

Skyscraper Guy goes to, presumably, take a swing at _you_ with a sword, but instead, he literally cuts the head off of one of the men. You can only stare. You're frozen to your spot, kind of trying not to throw up at the severed head rolling away from it's body.

The guy swings again, and this time, you just barely manage to miss it. A few of the men grab you again, and kind of present you to Skyscraper Guy, saying, _“He's_ the one you want! Not us!”

You rip yourself out of their grasp somehow. “Are you _blind?_ There's something _wrong_ with him! Get your heads out of your asses and _do something!_ ”

You end up ducking and running around the room a whole bunch, trying to avoid getting offed via sword, before you get the idea to throw the jewel in a different direction. Skyscraper Guy is after the jewel, right? Not _you._

He starts stumbling after it, and, good god, a familiar voice you'd never thought you'd be glad to hear calling you a 'fucking idiot' is heard, before Josh is darting into the room, and handing the jewel back to you. “What the hell do you think you're doing? _Hold on to this.”_

He turns around, hopefully to try defeating the guy or whatever. Either of you get a whiff of some smell, though. “Oh, _god,_ what _is_ that smell?”

“It's a _crow_ demon, Tyler. The fucker must've hijacked this guy's body. They're _vultures._ Literally.”

You actually do throw up this time since you happened to look up just in time to see Josh literally plunging his hand into Skyscraper Guy's chest, pulling a creature that _kind of_ looks like a crow from his body. “These things are _weak._ And _hella_ nasty.”

As he steps backwards to show you the fucking crow for whatever reason, he trips, the crow gets free, and it flies out of the building, but not before swallowing the goddamn _jewel_ on its way. “Oh come the _fuck_ on, Tyler! It has the _jewel!”_

“Yeah, no shit, jackass.”

He groans, and kneels down. “Get on my back.”

“What?”

“Get on my _back. Now._ You're slow, and I'm strong not to mention fast. We _have_ to get that thing.” You don't question him any further as you climb on. Before taking off at an impossibly quick speed, he grabs a bow and a bunch of arrows, telling you to hold onto them.

He runs for a while, going after the crow, and once he has enough momentum, he launches himself into the air. _Man, I wish I was a demon. This dude has some strong legs considering he was able to launch us forty feet into the air._ “What are you waiting for?! Shoot it!”

“Jesus— _Josh—_ I've never shot a bow in my life! How the hell am I going to hit it?”

As the two of you make a descent, he responds. “Elliot was a _master_ at archery. You're his reincarnation, so you're probably good at it too. This is our only hope, alright?”

He launches himself into the air again. “I'll _try,_ I guess. I'm not Elliot, though,” you mutter as you let an arrow go flying. It… falls to the ground pretty quickly.

“Try again, _klutz!”_

“Fuck you, Josh.” He jumps into the air again, though, without responding, and you take another shot, this time narrowly missing the crow demon.

Josh calls you a name you don't catch, before going back down to the ground, and running for a little longer. Once either of you are out of the forest, you see that the crow is flying above a _lake._ Given that Josh is a cat demon, you assume, you don't think he's going to even _touch_ the damn lake, so you climb off of his back, and start running towards the lake. You take _one more shot_ at the crow, and this time, it hits.

What you were expecting: The crow to die, and for Josh to go grab the corpse or something, and bring it back to you so you could get the jewel.

What you weren't expecting: The crow to disintegrate, and for the jewel to go flying in some random ass direction.

Josh doesn't waste any time as he picks you up, bridal style, saying, “You're going to tell me where that jewel is. _Now.”_

“I have no idea, man, all I know is it went that way?”

He nods, and starts running again. You instinctively wrap an arm around his neck, as to not fall.

 

“And you're _sure_ it fell around here?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so. I saw something come flying in this direction, so I mean…? It's worth a shot. No pun intended.”

Eventually, you do see _something._ “What is that?” Josh asks slowly.

“I… think… that it might… be a shard… of the jewel.”

 

You crack on the fourth day of being stuck there, and you decide to bathe in the lake. It's so. Fucking. Cold. You submerge yourself in the water, to the point that only your head is free. The old lady is nearby, keeping warm with fire, and she's trying to tell you to get out of the lake. “Tyler, you're going to catch a cold.”

“I _need_ to get clean. I'm covered head to toe in dirt, sweat, blood, and god knows what else.” You catch a glimpse of Josh, sitting in a tree nearby, but he has his eyes closed, and looks as if he's napping, so you gloss over it.

 

_**FLASHBACK** _

 

“Seriously, Tyler, what did you do to the damn jewel?”

“Down.”

 _“Ow!_ Asshole.”

“Silence, Josh.” The old lady casts him a dirty, _dirty_ look.

“He's the one who shattered the jewel! Don't get mad at me.”

“It doesn't matter. We don't know how many shards of the jewel there are. There could be four, there could be a thousand—like I said, it doesn't matter. Just one shard in the wrong hands could be disastrous.”

You're munching on a fruit, and listening intently. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, you're the one who broke it. It's your guys' responsibility to gather up the shards and to restore the jewel. Added, you're the only one who could restore the jewel.”

“Why _me?!_ I didn't _break it._ Like I said, it was _him.”_

“Josh, don't make me say the word. Shut _up.”_

He frowns, but closes his mouth and leans back a little. You kind of want to laugh, because his mannerisms are so… _feline._ He acts delicate, and he sits in an almost uptight way.

“If the two of you don't _work together,_ this will never get done.”

_Fuck. I want to go home. But I can't. Not if I have to find every single shard of this damn jewel._

 

_**FLASHBACK END** _

 

You sigh, and duck your head under the water. _How am I even supposed to find the jewel shards? They're so_ tiny. _It's impossible._

You stay under the water for as long as you can hold your breath, and once you resurface, you start walking towards the edge of the lake, so you can get dressed again. You're not particularly self conscious, because, hey, you just—you exist, and you can't do anything to fix your body within five minutes, so you don't think about it, but when there's some other teenager, sitting atop a ledge, looking down at you while you have your own _jewels_ bared, well, you can get a little flustered. “ _Pervert! Down!”_

Josh's eyes widen ridiculously as he goes falling. You manage to get your boxers back on before he can get up, and on your way past him, you kick his arm. “Eyes off the jewels, dickbag.”

 _“_ _Why_ would I be looking at _you?_ God, I hate this fucking necklace.”

“Serves you right. You were totally peeping on me.” You figure that, if you were straight, you probably wouldn't have a problem with someone looking at you, but you're not straight. You're not necessarily _gay_ either, but definitely not straight.

“Was not! You don't even know why I was here.”

“Yeah, I do. You're hovering around the shard, and trying to wait for me to let my guard down so you can steal it. What would you have done after you stole it, huh?” You have your pants on now, and you're walking back over to him, so you can look down at him, with a pointed look and with hands on your hips. “You seem to forget that I'm apparently the only one who can sense where the shards are. How could you _possibly_ do it all on your own?”

He squints at you, but doesn't argue and further. “Whatever.”

“Look, _Josh,_ you're the muscle here. I'm the brains.”

You walk back over to the lady, and she hands you a robe that looks kind of similar to the one Josh is wearing. You thank you, before slipping it on. The material is a little rough, and kind of itchy. You're not fond of it, but your own t-shirt had gotten torn throughout all of the ruckus with the crow demon, so it'd have to do for at least that moment.

“These were my brother's. The two of you are about the same size,” The lady explains.

You nod. “I'm thanking him through prayer.”

She smiles a little sadly, and you catch Josh giving you a _look._ There's vague recognition in _his_ eyes, and, alright, you really must look a lot like this Elliot guy. He fucking _growls,_ and starts inching away from you and the lady.

“Jeez. What's his issue?” You mutter. The old lady hands you a cooked bit of meat, and you pick at it before one of the other ladies from the village asks her to tend to something.

Once she leaves, Josh tells you to take the robe off. “And you're _sure_ you're not just trying to check me out?”

“I'm _not,_ alright? How many times to I have to tell you?” Now he acts a little hurt, and you kind of feel bad. “Just—look—you look like _him,_ and I don't like it.”

“Tough luck. I'm cold, and my own shirt is ruined anyways. You can deal with seeing me in this robe until I _go home.”_

He scoffs. “You can't just leave.”

“Oh _really?_ Watch me.” You get up, slip your shoes on, and start walking.

“Whatever! You need me more than I need you!” He shouts, at some point.

You say 'down,' then tell him he's full of shit.

 

You manage to get to the well this time without getting abducted. You can sense another weird _presence,_ but you ignore it. You just want to go _home._ You look down into the well, and— “Ugh, _really?_ They tossed the _bones_ of the centipede thing in here? Ew.” You decide to tough it out, though.

Or, well, you decide long enough, until you get a look around yourself. You can _barely_ see a bunch of strings, or something, glinting in the sunlight, and when you look up, there's a fucking _girl_ floating in the damn air, looking down at you. _Oh, come the fuck on. I just want to go_ home. _Is that too much to ask?_

She introduces herself as a _hair_ demon, then there's what you can only assume are long strands of hair being flung towards you, cutting up your arms. One of the hairs yanks the little bag containing the shard from its place in one of your pockets, and you gasp. _Fuck. I'm already messing this up._

She sees that there's only one shard of the jewel, and asks, “Wheres the rest of it?!”

“I shattered it on accident. I have no idea.”

She groans, and rolls her eyes, before unsheathing a sword, and flying towards you. You barely manage to avoid getting sliced up, _but,_ you fall backwards into the well with a yelp. You see the sword come flying after you, and right as you think it's going to pierce your abdomen, it, well—it disappears. Or _you_ do, since, when you look up, all you can see is _dark._ The kind of dark that means _shrine._

 _Oh thank god. Finally. Home at_ last.

You hear your fathers voice, saying something along the lines of, “Zack, look, we've been in here possibly a hundred times already. He _isn't there.”_

“I _saw_ him.”

You hear the man sigh, before a flashlight is shining down into the well, and, oh god, you've never been happier to have a light shining directly into your face. “D-Dad?!” _God god god._ You start scaling the side of the well as best as you can, and once near the top, your father hauls you over, and honestly you don't think you've ever clung to him that much.

You hug your little brother just about as tight as well, and, surprisingly, he hugs you back. He acts like he hates you half the time, but you're pretty sure he was scared shitless about you being gone.

As you're following your father back into the house, he starts talking. “You've been missing for _three days._ You could've _at least_ called.”

“Yeah, Tyler. Why are you wearing that weird robe thing too?” Comes your brothers slightly snide question. Usually, you probably would've told him off, but you take to just answering him.

“It's a long story, little dude.”

“Quit calling me that. I'm not little.”

He's not even five feet tall yet.

Your mother comes at you the second you're in the house. She's crying, and holding you to her chest, and you hold her back. You're so glad to finally be home. The past few days—honestly, they have to be a dream. There's no other explanation. And you wouldn't particularly be against the idea of _Josh_ being a dream. _Such an asshole._

Once you get your family to calm down, and to detach themselves from you, you head up the stairs to take a shower, and to change into something more comfortable. You like jeans, you do, but after being stuck in them for the past three days—well—you don't really like them anymore. At least not for now.

The shower? It feels almost like heaven. You feel comfortable, and at least vaguely safe in that moment. You're able to _relax._ You can feel the tension being washed out of your shoulders, your back, your arms, as the warm water hits it. You decide just to focus on that moment, rather than everything else.

During your shower, and within the time you got dressed, your father informs you that he closed off the well. “Closed it off?”

“Yep. I even used a few _wards_ so that there won't be anymore monsters there to kidnap you.” You have to take a minute to process what he'd said, since you apparently forgot that, at least around the house, he tends to speak in Arabic. The man grew up in Lebanon—who can blame him for speaking his first language at home?

“Oh. Um. Cool, I guess.”

 

The next day, during your English lesson at school (yes, you took English, since you're fluent in it and not in Japanese), you catch a sight of a certain _cat._ Josh is across the street, _looking at you,_ and you just—well, for one thing, _how_ is here there, and for another, _why_ is he there? He has a few cats surrounding him too. By a few, you mean that there's literally probably about twenty cats near him. He doesn't even acknowledge them, of course.

You decide to politely raise your hand, and ask to be excused to use the restroom. You're not expecting the teacher to say 'yes' to you, but he does. You also catch him looking across the street, and you definitely catch the very, _very_ slight look he gives you.

You squint for about half a second before getting up, and not actually going to the bathroom. You dart towards the end of the hall, and outside of the door. Once you're across the street, you're harshly whispering, “Josh, what the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“I'm here to get you, dumb ass.”

“I'm at _school._ I can't just _leave.”_

“Sure ya can, now hop on,” He's kneeling again, and motioning for you to get on his back.

“No.”

“Do it, or I'll pick you up my damn self and carry you back. I'm not giving you a choice.”

If you weren't dead tired, you probably would've argued with him more. You just groan, and climb onto his back. He takes a minute to pet one of the cats, but you pinch his neck, and tell him to get a move on. As he's running, he says, “Look, that cat wanted me to pet it. That was _important.”_

“Josh, it's a cat. There's other cats. We _apparently_ don't have time, so, like I said— _get a move on.”_

He grunts.

 

You make Josh put you down so you can go change out of your uniform, and he follows you closely through the house. Your own cat, who you named Night when you were, like, eight, is on your bed, and Josh just about has a heart attack. “Dude, why didn't you tell me you had a cat?”

“I didn't really expect you to pop up here, nor did I invite you into my room.”

He shrugs, and flops onto your bed to pet Night. He's muttering to your cat, and your cat starts making weird chirping noises back at him. _He's so weird. Jesus._

“You can talk to cats?”

“I'm a cat demon. _Duh.”_

“Huh. Also, turn your head while I get dressed.”

“Why do you think I'd even look at _you?”_ He asks as he rolls over to face your wall. “You don't even have any muscles, and you still have baby fat. You're hardly attractive.”

You scoff. “You're the same age as me, so shut up. You have baby fat too.”

“We are _not_ the same age.”

“You look fifteen to me.”

“I'm two hundred and _three,_ thank you very much. _You're_ fifteen.”

“Bullshit.”

“You wanna bet?! Ask the old hag. She knew me for three years, and I didn't age a single _bit._ Maybe a month. _At most.”_

“Can I call you grandpa?”

“If you call me grandpa, I'll claw your tongue out of your mouth.”

“Down.”

He makes some sort of choking noise as he faceplants onto your bed. “Quit doing that.”

“Not until you quit being a dick. We're stuck together whether you like it or not, so get up.”

He follows you back down the stairs, and to your kitchen. “Tyler, seriously, we need to go.”

“I want something to eat.”

“We don't have time.”

“Why not?”

“There's a _demon_ basically terrorizing the damn village. We need. To go.”

“You should've said something! Fuck. Give me a few minutes. I need to do a few things.”

You write out a note for your parents, saying that you'll be back, and you grab yourself a change of clothes this time, and stuff them into a back pack before climbing onto Josh's back again. He hops down into the well, and similar to when the centipede monster had grabbed you, your surroundings change from the stone walls of the well, to the universe. You really wish you had another word for it. You'll figure it out eventually.

Once the two of you are, presumably, back in the past, Josh launches the two of you into the air, and gently sets you down once either of you are on the ground. He takes part of his robe off, and hands it to you. “Wear this. You're going to need it.”

“Why?”

“It's made from the fur of some legendary cat demon, and it's basically armor. _Wear it.”_

“What about you, though?”

 _“_ _I'll_ be fine. I'm a demon. You're a human. Humans die easily.”

You slip it on, and tuck the bottom part of it into your pants, before responding with. “I resent that, by the way.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Here, take these too.” He hands you a bunch of throwing knives that are held in a neat little satchel that you slip over your shoulders. “You're probably not going to be any good, but it's better to be protected since I might not always be around.”

“Um. Thanks. I guess.”

He starts walking, so you tail him. You also totally don't take the chance to check him out. He's a little muscular, more than you expected, and, god, he's _hot,_ but he's such a _dick._ His back muscles move so fluidly and smoothly every time that he moves, and you're so tempted to reach out and touch him. You refrain, though, since he'd probably try killing you again. “Tyler, look around you, and tell me if you see any hair. Also, flip the hood on the robe.”

You do as he says. “I don't… I don't see any hair. Why do I need to look for it?”

“Hair demon. Yura. She uses the hair like puppet strings, and she's kind of taken over most of the village.”

He turns around, and points at his face. “You see these scratches? Those are from the hair. She tried getting me, but, thankfully, I'm way too strong to fall into her trap.”

“You're bluffing, but whatever. You got scratched; what's the big deal?”

“I'm hard to hurt. That's the big deal. And I'm _not_ bluffing.”

“You are too.”

“That's not the _point._ The hag told me that you're one of the only ones who can actually see the hair, so you _need_ to tell me if you do, because my claws are the only thing sharp enough to cut it.” As if to prove himself, he flexes his claws a little bit.

“Alright, alright.”

He huffs, and tells you to get on his back again, since you're apparently too slow. While he's running, you ask, “How do you run with me on your back? Aren't I heavy?”

He grunts. “Not really. I'm not weak like you are.”

You spot what you think is a hair, so you alert Josh of it. “Where?”

He sets you down, and you point.

He swipes at it, and manages to get it in one go. It snaps, and either of the segments of it go flying back to where they came from. “There's more hair in that direction.”

“Alright.” You get onto his back again, and he heads in, y'know, _that direction._ “There should be one _main_ hair that leads to the demon.”

“How do I know which one it is?”

“If it gets cut, any other hairs nearby are going to go slack, so, you'll know, I guess.”

“Oh.”

“Just—look—we need to follow it. That demon has a shard of the jewel, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

 

Eventually, after night falls, the two of you come across a clearing with a bonfire in the middle of it. Around it, a few of the men from the village sit, but the thing is—their heads are gone. You have to take a minute to sit down, and gather yourself.

Josh decides to act like an asshole again. “Don't tell me you're _scared.”_

“Of _course_ I'm scared.” You stand up after a few minutes, and take out one of the throwing knives. “The thing is, though, if we don't take her out, even more people are going to die.”

“Like you're going to be able to do it. Just—come on.” He picks you up for the thousandth time, bridal style this time, and hops up into a tree. (By this point, either of you had found the main hair.) “You're not going to be able to throw that knife _all the way_ over there, and actually hit her.”

“How do you know?”

“You couldn't even shoot a damn arrow properly.”

“Throwing knives are different. Put me, uh, y'know, that one word, so I can actually _try.”_

He obeys, then thanks you for not saying it under his breath. You don't respond. You have your arm back, and you're about to throw the knife, but suddenly the tree is giving way beneath the two of you, and you hear the sharp _twangs_ of strands of hair. Josh manages to grab you mid air, but not before dropping a snide comment about humans.

“Josh!” You point in the direction of this one rather large mass of hair coming straight towards you, and you tell him to swipe at it. He doesn't get it, and you barely manage to turn away, and use his robe to protect yourself. “Fuck, it's over there now! Try not to miss it this time, would ya?”

“I can't fucking _see_ it, Tyler. I'm trying, alright?” He snaps at you. You mimic him, rather immaturely, under your breath. “I'm not deaf, you dick.” He hears rustling in one of the bushes, so he takes another swipe, but only manages to nail a few of the hairs rather than the entire mass.

“Left left left!” You're gesturing wildly. This whole situation is such a fucking mess. _This time_ he manages to get the whole thing, and for the most part, the whole mass goes slack, meaning the two of you are safe for at least a minute.

Josh apparently hears something that you don't, so he picks you up, and throws you over his shoulder before running in the direction of the thing he'd heard. You shout at him to at least carry you in a comfortable position, but he doesn't even acknowledge you. He does make a quick promise not to drop you, though, but breaks it probably within about five seconds of saying it as another mass of hair wraps itself around his right wrist, and pulls him up into the air.

You land with a yelp, and when you turn around, you see a terrifying ball of hair. _I think that's where the demon has to be hiding. There's no other place she could be at, if not there._

Suddenly, the hair demon is there, with devilishly red lips curling into a poisonous smile. She says something to Josh in that one dialect you can't quite understand, and he yells at her. _“That_ dumb ass? You really think I'd work with _him?_ He can't even shoot an arrow straight!”

“You're _both_ idiots. I mean, look what you did to the jewel, hm?”

They go back and forth for a minute, but suddenly, everything is going way too fast, and you see her fly by Josh, sword out, and, oh god, suddenly there's _blood,_ and Josh is screaming, then you're reaching a hand into the satchel and throwing one of the knives at the demon. It clips her shoulder.

She turns as she's going through the air, and looks at you in surprise. “Let him _down! Now!_ Or I won't _miss_ next time.” _I hope she doesn't know I'm bluffing. Fuck._

She just smirks, smugly, and looks to Josh. “You really must be a good little kitty to have that _brat_ doting over you.”

Josh is just struggling, and panting, and kind of giving you a pleading type of a look.

You throw another knife as hard as you can, and although it doesn't actually hit her this time, it _does_ get lodged into the ball of hair. A white light erupts from the knife, and then the ball isn't a ball anymore, but rather a tangled mess of skulls and hair collapsing onto the ground. The demon screeches, and then, fuck, she's sending a bunch of flames your way. You cower under the robe.

Everything is way too hot, but you're not burning, so that's something, at least. You manage to turn your head to get a glimpse of Josh digging his fucking hand into the wound on his abdomen, then taking another swipe at the demon. There's some red glowing kind of aura coming from his claws, and, alright, it's actually kind of cool. One of the demon's hands goes flying off of her body, and it's her turn to scream bloody murder. _Good. Serves the bitch right._

He smirks in triumph, but the smirk comes too soon, because you're watching in absolute horror as the severed hand, now holding the sword, heads straight towards him. The sword goes straight through his body, and you shout, because, _fuck,_ he's your only hope of getting out of this alive.

The scream he lets out is terrifying, you can kind of see blood spilling from his mouth, and you don't even want to imagine how painful everything must be for him. The demon lets him flop to the ground, foolishly assuming that Josh is going to die. Well, you assume he's going to die as well, but he doesn't. _You_ don't know that at the time, though.

The flames die down pretty shortly after, and that's when you catch a glimpse of something _odd._ A red _skull._ You can barely see it, and you can barely tell it's a skull, but something tells you that it's the key to defeating this fucking _thing._

With a knife grasped firmly in one of your hands, you start running as fast as you can. You manage to get to the skull before she gets to you, so you bury one of the knives in it, and, just like that, she just—she _vanishes._ Like, death vanish. You defeated her just like _that._ “What the fuck just happened…?”

You don't give yourself time to think about it, though, because _now_ you're running over to Josh. He's sitting up, and giving you a dirty look. Surprisingly, his chest nor his abdomen look as fucked up as you thought they would. “Shit. Um. Put this back on,” you slip the robe off. “C'mon.” You grab him by the hand, and tug him up to his feet.

He gives you a weird look, but he lets you lead him away anyways.

 

 

You make Josh lay down in one of the houses in the village before you run back to the well, returning about an hour or two later with a first aid kit. You plop down onto the floor next to Josh, and you try getting the top part of his robe off of him, but he pushes you away. “What are you _doing?”_

“Treating your wounds.”

“I don't need it.”

“Josh, you had a sword stabbed right through your chest, _twice_ , and you have a gash in your stomach. You _need_ it.”

“I do not.”

“You do too. Don't make me say the word.”

He gives you a challenging look.

“Just take your damn robe off.”

_“_ _No.”_

“Take it off.”

“I said no, now drop it. I'm _fine.”_

You wrestle with him for a second, trying to get the dumb fucking robe off of him, when the old lady steps into the tiny little house. Her eyebrows are so far up on her face, and, now that you realize it, you're kind of in a compromising position. You're straddling Josh, and you're trying to get him to take his top off. You blush furiously as you get the hell off of him.

He gives you a dirty look, rolls his eyes, then slips the robe off. “Look, I'm _fine.”_

And he is. He is seriously fine. His chest doesn't even have a _mark_ on it.

“I… think the two of you might like each other more than I thought.”

“He's a disgusting _pig._ I do _not_ like him.”

“He's some snot nosed brat. I'm ashamed to even _associate_ with him.”

You glare at Josh.

He glares right back.

“I've told you. I'm a _demon._ I heal faster than you do. Like, way faster.”

“Oh.” You frown.

 

The lady asks the two of you if either of you are alright, and you shrug, saying, “More or less.”

Once she's gone, Josh moves to sit in front of you. He bites his right thumb, then grabs you by the chin with his left hand. You have a pretty ugly cut on your face, and he decides to wipe his bloody thumb across it. “That's like… really gross. What are you doing?”

“I'm _helping_ you. Half-demon blood, like, helps heal things faster.”

You cringe. “This isn't going to turn me into a demon or anything, is it?”

He shakes his head. “It takes a lot more blood than a few drops to turn someone into a demon. You might feel weird for a few hours, but other than that, you're still a pathetic little human.”

“Down.”

_Glare._

 

For the most part, you nap the rest of the day, until you notice that it's evening. At that point, you get up, and gather your things, because, now that you know you can travel from here to your own home at will, you're sleeping in your own goddamn bed. Josh follows you the whole way, griping, pissing, and moaning about how you can't go home, and as you're climbing over the edge of the well, you say, “Watch me.”

Of course, he jumps in after you, and even when you're back on your side of the well, he's _still_ griping. “Josh, for the love of fucking Christ—four hours. That's all I need. I just want to sleep in my own bed for four hours. The word can not fuck itself up for four hours, right?”

“Within four hours you managed to destroy half of a village by attracting a centipede demon to it, and you also broke the spell that bound me to that dumb tree for fifty years.”

“Please. I just want to sleep.”

Honestly, you never thought that you'd ever be arguing with a cat demon, in a well, at nine in the evening over where you're going to sleep at. When you start scaling the wall of the well, Josh groans, and jumps out of it, conveniently grabbing you on the way. “Fine. I'll let you sleep. But you're not leaving my sight, especially after the incident with the shard and the hair demon a few days ago.”

You groan, and detach yourself from him so you can walk into your house. You get five, very long hugs from your family, then your youngest brother is asking, “Who's that?” while pointing at Josh.

 _He followed me into the damn house. Oh my god._ “That's… Josh.”

You think your father is about to tell Josh to leave, or something, but he does the unexpected. He fucking grabs Josh's ears and starts rubbing them. The look on Josh's face _almost_ has you laughing. You bite your cheek, though. The aforementioned demon crosses his arms, and gives _you_ a look. _Aw. He's trying to be nice. That's a first._ “Uh, Dad—calm down. How would you feel if some strange man came up to you and started touching _your_ ears?”

Thankfully, your father seems to consider your request as he detaches his hands from Josh's ears. He asks you if Josh is a demon, and you nod, slowly. He then looks to your mother. “Ha! Told you they were real. Five bucks.”

“I don't _have_ five bucks.”

Josh just looks confused, if anything. You manage to get away from your family, and into your kitchen after twenty minutes of trying to explain how demons worked to them. As expected, Josh follows you. “What is this place anyways?”

“It's a kitchen, Josh. You make and store food in it.”

He makes a vague noise at you. “… D'ya think I could eat something?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “What would you like?” As much as you don't like the guy, you can't refuse to let him eat.

“Do you have fish?”

“Sorry, man. No fish. We have leftover turkey, though…?”

He pretty much starts salivating on the spot. _“Turkey._ Please?”

 _He said 'please.' Is turkey the key to getting him to not be an asshole?_ “Sure, I guess. Do you want it on a sandwich, or…?”

“I don't know what a 'sand witch' is, but I don't want it.”

“No, _sandwich._ You take two pieces of bread and you put your toppings between them. A _sandwich.”_

“That sounds weird.”

“I'm making one for myself. You can try it, if you want.”

He nods, and then you proceed to, y'know, make a sandwich. You hand Josh a small plate with turkey, and he fucking _bows_ at you. _Cat. He's literally a cat._ “Try the sandwich first.”

He sniffs it suspiciously, and takes a second to lift one slice of the bread up, probably to make sure you're not trying to poison him or something. Eventually he does take a bite. “This is fucking delicious. Holy shit.”

You nod. “Told ya. Eat your turkey, now.”

 

When you wake up around four in the morning, Josh is sitting on top of your dresser on the other end of your bed, staring at you. “You're creepy.”

“You're a human.”

“Shut up.”

You go to flop back onto your bed, hopefully to get at least a few more hours of sleep, but Josh clicks his tongue, and crawls across your bed to hit your face with his hand. He's not, like, punching you or anything, but he's lightly smacking you, saying, “Nope. Get up. You woke up, so you don't get to sleep anymore.”

 

This time, along with a specific change of clothes, you pack a blanket with you. (By specific change of clothes, you mean that Josh told you to pack something _black_ with you.) After making sure you haven't forgotten the throwing knives, you get one foot out of the door before Josh is _manhandling_ you, carrying you to the well, and saying, “You're too slow,” when you get onto him for it. He's at least nice enough not to drop you, or to carry you upside down or anything weird like that.

As soon as either of you are on the other side of the well, he's tensing up, and sniffing. _“Demon.”_ Aaand then the two of you are suddenly airborne before he's running, with you clinging to his shoulders for dear life. _If this asshole drops me, I will kill him._

“What _kind_ of demon?”

“If I knew, I'd tell ya. All I know is I caught a whiff of something rank.”

 

 

You're unceremoniously deposited onto the ground once Josh catches sight of the demon. You make sure to have a few throwing knives ready to go as you run after him. The demon he'd apparently caught a whiff of is more or less an impish looking thing, and you see a spot glowing on its chest. “Hey, uh, Josh, I think it has a shard...”

His head snaps towards you. _“Where?”_

“On its chest.” He nods and you watch him chase the thing around for a few minutes before managing to catch it. You have to turn around, mostly because you really don't want to watch Josh tear the thing apart, looking for the fucking shard.

He walks around you, and drops a bloody shard into your hands. “Josh, this is disgusting.”

“What? Do you want me to clean it for you, _Princess?”_

“Yeah, actually.” You give him a pointed look.

“Wash it yourself. C'mon.” And now you give him a dirty look as you drop the shard into a sandwich bag that you plan to use to hold them. It's not the most secure thing, but it'd have to do until you found something better to use.

“Where are you even going?” You ask as you catch up to him. You have to speed walk to keep up with him, and, god, your legs are going to be sore later.

“I'm looking for my father's tomb, and you're coming with me.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “For one thing, _why,_ and for another, could you actually ask me if I want to go find your father's tomb with you?”

“I know a guy who knows a guy who says that there's a sword in his tomb, specifically meant for _me,_ and, luckily, I'm in need of a sword, because my claws can only do so much. Also, no, you don't get a choice in this.”

“Oh really? Why don't I get a choice? Why can't you just go on your own?”

“We might find some shards, and you're the only one who can sense them. If it weren't for that I'd leave you in your own world.” You think he's lying just a little bit. He acts like a child would.

“Whatever. How are you even going to find his tomb anyways?”

“It's in the north. It's probably a week's walk away.”

“A _solid_ week?”

“Yeah, like I'm going to walk for a whole fucking week. You need to sleep, and I need to rest my feet at least once in a while.”

“Josh, I don't even have any _food_ with me.”

He fucking _shrugs._ “We'll find food then. There's plenty of plants and animals around.”

“I don't know how to hunt.” You give him an incredulous look.

“Useless.”

“Josh, I grew up in a place where hunting wasn't necessary. I wasn't prepared to just up and disappear to go to feudal fucking Japan.”

“Who hunts in your world, then? You guys have meat.”

He decides to slow his pace down, and you sigh because, hey, you no longer have to speed walk to keep up with him. “For the most part, no one does. There's like—there's farms where they grow animals for the purpose of eating them. It's actually kind of gross.” You shrug. “It's inhumane, honestly.”

“Animal farms? Are there farms for specific animals?”

You nod. “There's farms for cows, chickens, turkeys, and pigs, mostly. Um… I think ducks and horses are the only animals that are kind of like… taboo for us to eat.”

“Poor you. Ducks are delicious.”

You roll your eyes. “So's turkey. I have that on an almost daily basis.”

“Turkeys aren't too common in this part of Japan, or Japan in general. I used to see them a lot when I lived in the east.”

“East? Like, China?”

He scoffs. “China is west, dumb ass. There's another continent if you go far enough east.”

“Dude, we call that North America in my world. Still doesn't explain why you know English, but that's cool. I'm—that's where I'm from.”

He makes a bit of a face. “My dad was from England, and my mom was from here.” And now he shrugs, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

You run your mouth, though. “What, is your mom a sore subject?”

“Fuck off. I'm not talking about it.”

“Why not?”

He gives you a really, _really_ dirty look, and, okay, you definitely shut your mouth.

 

The sky looks so pretty without light pollution at night. Josh stopped once the sun started going down, found a little tiny clearing, and said, and you _quote,_ “Sleep there. I don't want you dying. I need the jewel.” _Nice to know he cares about me._ Your eyes roll. Spiritually.

Anyways, back to the sky. You're laying on your back, staring up, trying to keep warm, all while looking at all the damn stars. You were used to the occasional little white _blip_ in the sky, but you're definitely not used to seeing almost an entire galaxy in the sky. It's actually really beautiful.

Josh notices you fidgeting after an hour or so, and he sighs super loud. “Will you hold still? We don't need every demon and animal for miles knowing we're here.”

“Well, I'm sorry, _Josh,_ but I'm not used to sleeping on the damn ground, and using my shitty jacket for a pillow. Also, it's cold. I'm _so sorry_ about not being able to sleep.” The last sentence of that is just _dripping_ with sarcasm, and it earns you a glare.

He walks over to where you're laying, on his knees, and tells you to sit up. Begrudgingly, you obey. He takes the top part of his robe off, then takes your jacket from where it'd been sitting to place it in his lap. “C'mere.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“You said you were cold and not comfortable. _Come here._ My legs are more comfortable than dirt.” _What a gentleman. Ugh._

You put your head on your jacket in his lap, and he drapes the robe over you. Unexpectedly, you get what is probably one of the best night's sleep you've ever had.

 

You wake up to a golden eyed glare and black hair that you desperately just want to brush and style because, Jesus, his hair is oily and it's irking you. “Why are you looking at me?”

“You're sleeping in my lap.”

“Doesn't mean you have to stare at me. Creep.” You sit up, and hand him his robe before folding the blanket up and stuffing it back into your backpack. After slipping his robe on, he holds your jacket out to you, and you thank him. Quietly.

He grunts.

 

“Aren't we looking for your father's tomb? Why are we in a village?”

“You need clothes.”

“I have clothes…?”

“ _Different_ clothes. You look weird. You stick out like a sore thumb. Also, your clothes don't have anywhere to store throwing knives at, and we all know you're not going to bother trying to learn how to use a bow and arrow. Speaking of, you need another weapon besides throwing knives. Those wont do shit against demons.”

Josh goes on for a few more minutes, before you cut him off. “Josh, shut up. I get it. I need different clothes and different weapons.”

“I was just making sure you knew. Idiot.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

 

Josh finds a little half-cave for the two of you to stop and rest at that night. “Why are you refusing to wear a kimono?” He asks as you get comfortable with your head in his lap for the second time. “Everyone else wears them.”

“I'll look dumb. Do you know how dumb a white guy looks in a kimono?”

“Aren't you Lebanon or something?”

 _“_ _Lebanese,_ and similar to your demon status, I'm only half. I'll wear the robe part of it over the change of clothes I have in my bag, but that's it. Feudal Japan or not, I'm not looking like a dumb ass.”

“You already look like one.”

“And you look like an asshole.”

“Tyler, I could snap your fucking neck right now, among other things. Watch your tongue.”

“One word and you're face-planting into the ground. _You_ watch your tongue.”

(Honestly, the robe part of it looks more like a cardigan. A very itchy and uncomfortable cardigan. There's pockets on the inside of it that are _perfect_ for holding throwing knives, though, and the sleeves stretch barely past your finger tips, plus the robe itself extends down to your knees almost. You kind of look cool, so long as you're wearing all black underneath it. Any other colors and your status as fashionable is going out the window.)

 

 

“I'm not going in there.”

“Tyler, _come on._ We've walked for a week. You're not wimping out on me now.”

“Yes I am. It's dark in there and I won't be able to see.”

“It's not my fault you're a human.” The two of you go back and forth for a few more minutes, before he's letting out a frustrated little groan. “Just—hold onto my sleeve or something. I have that cat shit where they can see really good in the dark.”

“Give me a reason I should trust you not to make me bump into any walls, or to, y'know, kill me, and take the shards or something.”

“You're a big baby. I don't have any reasons, but you have some bullshit priest-slash-priestess powers, which obviously I don't have, so you're useful in that respect. That's why you're able to sense the shards and why, whenever you throw knives, they do weird things. Killing you while you're incapacitated is a dick move, and although limited, I do have _some_ morals. Now grab my sleeve and _come on.”_

You squint at him, and, well, he sounds both convincing and desperate, so you grumble and grip his sleeve as he leads you into the cave, which, hopefully, contains his father's tomb. “Maybe next time we should bring a light with us or something…?”

“Torches don't last long.”

“I meant a flashlight. It's like a torch, but it lasts longer, and doesn't involve flames.”

“Your world is weird, but it has useful things.”

“I guess.” You hear a noise a few minutes later, and, honestly, you've never jumped that high in your life. You opt for holding Josh's hand instead of his sleeve, because, hey, his hand has a better grip rather than the stiff material of his top.

“You're a baby.”

“I can't _see.”_

You can feel his eye roll.


	6. Chapter 6

Tyler Joseph is kind of an enigma to you. You've seen him around campus, and he's in a few of your classes, but he never says anything, and he doesn't talk to anyone. He does have friends, though. They're the kind of people you, an intellectual, would avoid. Okay, okay, you're not… an intellectual per se, but queer men in leather who chain smoke and who just look bad ass aren't really your crowd.

You fit in with the awkward loser crowd. You're not necessarily a loser, but you aren't cool, or popular, at least. You've got one friend, and you can consider him your best friend, you think. It's kind of funny, but you have a bit of a weird fixation on the infamous and mysterious Tyler Joseph, and he has a crush on Tyler Joseph's best friend. You can never remember the guy's name, but you think it's Brandon or something like that.

Tyler Joseph isn't want you'd expect. He never has been. You officially meet him at a party that Dallon had managed to get invited to, meaning he'd brought you at his plus one. You had taken to just sitting outside, on a stranger's porch, smoking a cigarette and sipping at a beer, when Tyler had come stumbling out of the house, cursing in a language you didn't recognize.

He plops down next to you, and asks if he can bum a smoke. You oblige, albeit a little warily. He's wearing a jacket that has gray fabric for sleeves, but leather for the rest of it, and his jeans are, like, ridiculously tight. He's wearing some bad-ass combat boots, and he has a frown settling onto his face as he stares across the yard.

After a few minutes of silence, he starts talking to you as if you're his best friend. He doesn't seem to give a shit about whether or not you're actually listening, but you are, because he seems genuinely distressed. Or at least really pissed off. “I fucking hate my boyfriend. I just broke up with him, but he's such a piece of fucking _shit.”_

“Oh.” You're quiet as you stub your cigarette out on the wood of the porch, not really caring since it isn't your house. You light another cigarette, and he continues.

“He tried getting me to have sex with someone just so he could get some dope. Like, how fucking lame is that? If he wants dope, he can have sex with the person himself. Fucking tweaker. Can I bum another smoke?” He looks just a bit defeated, so you give him as you hand him another cigarette. “Thanks.”

“That's kinda lame.” You fiddle with the sleeve of your dumb Tumblr-esque alien sweatshirt. “What kind of dope was it?”

“Cocaine. I knew I shouldn't have gotten involved with an addict, but I didn't think he was so fucking desperate. I get weed, and I get poppers or LSD or ecstasy, but cocaine? He's pathetic.”

“What are poppers…?”

“Slang for amyl nitrate. It's kind of like a muscle relaxer, and it makes sex, at least gay sex, like, way easier.”

“Oh.” You're not really eloquent, given a highly intimidating guy who intrigues you is talking to you about some personal shit for almost no reason. “Um. I'm not gay. So I wouldn't know.”

“Don't worry, I guess. What's your name?”

“Joshua, but, uh, I prefer Josh.”

He sticks a hand out, and you shake it. “Thanks for listening to me, Josh. You want my number? We should hang out sometime. Straight guys are always fun to hang out with.”

“Uh. I—sure, I guess.” He takes your phone from your pocket, and sticks his cigarette in his mouth as he goes to your contacts to enter his own number in. He sets his picture as a dumb selfie he'd taken at that moment, and you kind of laugh to yourself, because, hey, it really is dumb.

“I'm gonna go find Brendon and have him take me home. Though, if he's too fucked up to take me home, would you mind?”

“I… kind of came here with a friend. Sorry, dude.”

“S'alright. Seeya, I guess.” With that, he gets up, slips back into the house, and quits being an enigma to you but more of some weird cosmic force that is definitely going to fuck your life up for good.

 

* * *

 

You probably sit on the porch for another hour or two until Dallon comes out of the house, and helps you up by grabbing your hand and hauling you off of the ground. He grips your sleeve as the two of you walk to his car, mostly to keep his balance, and you assume you're driving home that night.

The two of you rent an apartment together, mostly since it's a little too expensive to live in Masachussets without doing so. You'd met him on Skype after he'd added you as a contact on accident back in 2010, and after figuring out that the two of you didn't live too far from each other, either of you became best friends almost immediately.

On the ride back to the apartment, Dallon starts talking about _his_ night. “I slept with Brendon Urie at that party. I thought he was going to be some brutal top, but, oh my god he's such a twink. He even called me daddy and asked me to spank him.”

You snort. “Sounds like a fun time. Tyler Joseph talked to me about some personal shit.”

“What about? I saw him getting into a shouting match with his boyfriend, so if you can spill some tea on that, I will suck your dick.”

“I'm straight, Dal. Sorry to fuck your plans up. I dunno, Tyler said the boyfriend tried getting him to have sex with someone else just so he could cop some dope, and Tyler broke up with him. Don't really blame him.” You shrug, as you come to a stop at a red light.

“That's fucking shitty. I think Urie was a little tweaked when we did it, but, man, he's probably the best fuck of my life so far. Like, my thighs are literally sore from fucking him.”

“Been a while since I've done that.”

“You still seeing Debby?”

“Nah. She dumped me. The long distance shit was getting too hard, and if I'm honest, I wasn't really feeling it anyways.”

“Sorry about that, pal.” Dallon pats you on the shoulder, and you roll your eyes at him.

 

* * *

 

 

You fall asleep on the couch that night after watching a few episodes of a TV show on Netflix. Dallon wakes you up around five, on accident, mostly, while he's getting ready to leave for his first class. He's an economics student at Harvard, whereas you go to school at a simple community college. He's a smart guy, and you kind of envy him for it.

It's not as if you aren't smart, because you are, but you weren't fortunate enough to get a full-ride to Harvard, so you had to settle for the sub-par teaching at the community college you'd mentioned. You catch Dallon with a brownie as he walks from the kitchen to the hallway, so you stop him. “Is that one of my pot brownies.”

He takes a bite and shrug. “I got anxiety, man. Can't make it through Peck's fucking economics class without being stoned anyways.”

You roll your eyes, and try to get comfortable again since your first class isn't until ten anyways.


	7. Chapter 7

**ONE**

 

_Running. Falling. Can't breathe. Confused. Pain. Lots of pain. And--_

 

"Tyler, dude, wake up."

The mentioned fifteen year old throws a pillow in the direction of the voice talking to him. _I need to go back. I need to know what was happening. That wasn't an okay dream. It was one of the weird ones._

"I said get up, not throw pillows at me."

"You said wake up, Zack, and also go away."

"Mom's going to have my head if you're not up soon, Tyler. We know how she is."

Tyler rolls over, and hauls himself up. "Get out of my room so I can get dressed."

The younger boy squints and obeys.

Tyler looks around his room, until he finds a vase with fake flowers and marbles in it that he'd gotten from his grandmother a few years ago. He reaches a hand into it to grab one of the marbles, then opens his window. He looks between his hand, his open window, and the window on the other side of the fence, before moving his arm and hand _just so,_ to where the marble goes flying, hitting the other window hard enough to make a loud noise, but not hard enough to break.

He's about to throw another one, but then there's a hand hitting the other window, and a tired face mouthing, "Fuck you," at him.

Tyler sticks his tongue out at his best friend before closing his own window, and his blinds.

Before actually getting dressed, Tyler pulls out the third five subject notebook he'd bought in the past few years just to write his _weird_ dreams down in.

He hadn't started getting them until he was about thirteen, and, honestly, he thought that dreams like that were probably some weird coming-of-age thing, until he figured out that, no, that's not what the dreams were. He'd talked to his therapist about it, but he was just told that the dreams were probably how his _depression_ manifested itself.

 

\---

 

"So... this time you actually saw things in the dream?"

Tyler nods in response to his best friend. "Yeah. I didn't see much, kind of like the other times I've seen things, but it was... weird. I was like... I was in my bedroom, right? I was in there, but everything was... Well, it was all _off._ The walls were dirty, the windows were dirty and cracked, and my stuff was everywhere."

"How about my room?" Josh stuffs an entire Twinkie into his mouth, and Tyler refrains from making a lewd comment.

"I can't remember. I don't think your house was there, though. Anyways, I was in my room trying to figure out what had happened, right? I don't know what it was, but something, or _someone,_ started chasing me, so out of reflex I ran, of course. I tripped a few times and I can't remember where I went, but I fell off of something high. I couldn't breathe out of nowhere, and I think I could taste blood, but like... _Everything_ hurt. So maybe I fell off of a cliff or something. I don't know. I woke up shortly after that, though." Tyler frowns, and picks at his sandwich.

 

\---

 

Josh climbs through his bedroom window, and barely gets five minutes of sleep before there's a constant barrage of _plink plink plink,_ signally that Tyler is throwing either pebbles or marbles at his window again, trying to wake him up. He checks the clock on his bedside table, and curses, since it's only four past three.

He hits his window, signaling for Tyler to give him a moment to open it. "What the fuck?" He whisper yells.

"I just woke up from one."

"Okay? Write it down and tell me at school tomorrow."

"No, Josh, _this one_ was different. Too different."

The seventeen year old pinches the bridge of his nose, and sighs at his slightly younger best friend. "Tyler, it's late. Too late for this."

"Quit mocking me and go get your car keys."

"Where am I taking you?"

"Away from here for at least an hour. I'll pay for your gas." Tyler's already climbing out of his window, apparently fully dressed, earning an incredulous look from Josh.

 

\---

 

Come three forty-two, the two teenagers are in Josh's car, sharing a large order of french fries in the parking lot of a 24-hour McDonald's. "What was different about that dream?"

"I'm telling you all of it, even the weird stuff, so don't make fun of me.

"Tyler, you've told me about your gay dreams involving me. I think I'll live."

Tyler rolls his eyes. "That was one time."

"Liar."

"Shut up and listen."

 

\---

 

_You're sitting in the back of your World History class with Josh, holding hands under the table the two of you share, when the voice that belongs to the Default Debbie who reads the 'bomb threat drill' sounds from the tinny speakers that are usually used for either the bell, or for announcements in the mornings._

_This time, it isn't a drill, and everyone starts panicking. Except for you. Well, you are panicking, but you're not... You're not open about it. Your head is exploding, basically, but on the outside you're cool, calm, and collected._

_It takes ten minutes for the entire school to be crammed into the gymnasium. Most of the classes have broken the rule about, you know, staying with your own class. You, yourself, are sitting in a cramped corner with Josh on one side, Brendon on the other, and both yours and Josh's ex girlfriends, who are actually dating, sitting across from the three of you._

 

_Suddenly, your surroundings are morphing, changing, as are you. Jenna and Debby aren't there anymore, but Josh and Brendon still are. Brendon's carving something into a log with a hunting knife, and Josh looks far older than he should when you finally look at him. "What's happening?" You ask._

_Josh looks up at you. Tiredly. "You're here again. You'll find out eventually." He looks defeated and unfazed._ _"How old are you?"_

_"Fifteen."_

_Josh nods, then looks away._

_You look over to Brendon. He doesn't say anything. He just continues carving into the log with his hunting knife. "Guys? Please, just—tell me what's going on. It's been like this the past few dreams. Why won't either of you tell me?"_

_"You'll find out in due time, Tyler."_

_"Just close your eyes. You'll wake up, and then you're going to throw marbles at my window until I open it, and you're going to tell me about the dream."_

 

\---

 

"That's fucking weird. What's up with Dream Josh?" Josh frowns at his french fries.

"I don't know, but it was too real. Way too real. I could smell everything, and feel everything too. We were dating or something in the beginning of it, but I don't know about the end of it. You were just sitting there watching that Brendon guy do whatever it is he was doing do the log. Christ--I don't even know anyone named Brendon."

"Why do you think you're having dreams likes this, man?"

"No idea. My therapist thinks it's because of my depression, but I think he's wrong. It's just--it's been three years almost. I turn sixteen in a few months. Dreams like that shouldn't last from when I'm thirteen to _now."_

"Maybe the dreams are real, dude."

"Doubt it."

**TWO**

 

Josh sits next to Tyler in the tree-house in his own back yard on the younger's sixteenth birthday, sharing cigarettes and a few cans of beer with him. Tyler's in the middle of saying something when his face flashes. He frowns, and looks at Josh, saying, "What happened to you?"

Josh gives him a weird look. "What do you mean?"

Tyler reaches over to touch one of his ears, then runs a thumb across his bottom lip. "Piercings. When did you get piercings? And why do you have _stubble?_ When--when did you get _muscular?"_

"Uh..." Josh just stares at him. "Are you fucking with me?"

"No? Why would I be doing that? H-how old are you?"

"I'm... I'm eighteen? You're sixteen."

Tyler _laughs._ "No, I'm not. I just turned thirteen, and you should be fifteen."

"Okay, you're fucking with me. Hand me your beer. I'm cutting you off."

Tyler makes another face, then looks down to his left hand. "Beer? I'm drinking?"

"Tyler--just--give me the fucking beer." Josh snatches it from him.

"I'm not messing with you, J."

They sit there in silence for a few moments, looking at each other. Tyler's trying to figure out what's happening, and Josh gets an idea. "Uh. Close your eyes. Just, like, try to focus or something, and you'll... you'll probably wake up."

Tyler does as told, surprisingly, and a few seconds later, he's opening his eyes again, and just starts talking exactly where he'd left off before, well, y'know. He only continues for a few seconds, though, before he's saying, "What the fuck happened?"

"Huh?"

"You weren't sitting there a few seconds ago, and my cigarette is gone."

"Uh. You're not gonna believe me...?"

"Josh. Try me." Tyler looks bored as he bums another cigarette from the older boy.

"Do you remember your first _dream?"_

Tyler thinks. "Yeah, I was way in the future, I think, then the dream did the thing where it goes to a different part, and then we were in your tree house smoking and getting sauced in the middle of winter."

"And what are we doing now...?"

Tyler blinks. "Smoking... and getting sauced in the middle of winter. What are you getting at?"

"Uh. Okay. You circa three years ago kind of like... took over your body for a few minutes. Then I told you to close your eyes and wake up."

"Yeah, alright, you're full of shit."

"See? I told you that you wouldn't believe me."

"Okay, Josh, you've been supportive with the shit about the dreams, but this isn't funny. I'm going home." Tyler looks hurt, and he's just about to pop open the little door to the tree house, but Josh grabs his arm.

"Tyler, I'm not fucking with you. If I was going to mess with you, then I would've made fun of you after you had that dream about me nailing you on your parents' porch swing, but I held my tongue. Thirteen year old you was _just_ here."

Tyler frowns and just sits back down. "On the off chance that you aren't fucking with me, and that you're right... What should we do?"

"Start looking through your notebooks, I guess. What is there that we can do?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trans!dallon au that im probably not gonna finish any time soon lol

_**INTRO** _

“ _Sarah, are you sure I should add this guy on Facebook?” Brendon nibbles on a thumbnail, and stares at the suggested panel next to his profile on Facebook, before glancing over to look at his best friend._

“ _If you don't do it, then I will. Look, he's friends with Josh, so obviously he can't be that bad. Also, he's cute. You see that face? That's the face of a cute guy. Add him, Brendon.” Sarah has hands on Brendon's shoulders, and she's shaking him, not to mention looking at him with something fierce in her eyes._

_Brendon sighs, and clicks on the 'add friend' button, before closing the tab. “Well, here goes nothing. Fuck.”_

“ _Now, we wait.”_

  


  


Brendon barges into Sarah's room a few days later, and claps his hands together to get her attention. “Hey, he accepted the friend request.”

She grins, and does a fist pump. “See? I told you he'd accept it, dude.”

He shakes his head, and walks over to her bed. She scoots over to give him enough room to plop down next to her. He shows her his phone, saying, “That's not all, though. He messaged me.”

  


**Dallon Weekes:** Do I know you at all?

  


“What should I say?” Brendon nibbles at his lip while Sarah gives him a set of instructions on how to reply.

  


**Brendon Urie:** No. You're friends with one of my friends, and my roommate said I should add you anyways since you're cute.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Well, Shit. That's interesting, I guess. So, what are you up to?

 **Brendon Urie:** Not much, man. I'm just existing.

 **Dallon Weekes:** I'm on my lunch break right now.

 **Brendon Urie:** it's like 5pm dude

 **Dallon Weekes:** I teach uh… gay studies in the evenings.

 **Brendon Urie:** Gay studies?

 **Dallon Weekes:** Yeah. Basically the class, and myself, studies homoeroticism in modern and classical literature, music, and a bunch of other things, plus we focus on LGBT+ rights, along with the movement in general. At the moment, we're studying Stonewall.

 **Brendon Urie:** Dude that's actually pretty freaking sick. They don't teach classes like that at the college I go to.

 **Dallon Weekes** : Well, they should. I took the class when I was in college, and I literally switched my major just so I could teach it. I fell in love with it almost immediately.

 **Brendon Urie:** Aww. That's kind of cute, actually.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Yes, education is totally adorable. That's exactly why I teach for a living; just to be cute.

 **Brendon Urie** : Smart ass.

  


  


Brendon and Sarah go out for a totally platonic coffee date. (Like, actually platonic. Sarah is asexual, and aromantic, whereas Brendon is bisexual, with a preference for men anyways, so there's really not a whole lot going on there.) “So, spill the tea. What's the professor like?”

“Well—”

/\

 **Brendon Urie:** Sup

 **Dallon Weekes:** Grading essays right now, so I can't really talk with Facebook, but if you're interested, I do have a laptop and Skype.

 **Brendon Urie:** Skype works, but I'm not that impressive.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Nonsense. I like your face in your pictures, so I'm sure a video call wouldn't be too terrible. At least for me. Now, as for me—I'm pretty basic.

 **Brendon Urie:** I'm suing you for slander. You are not basic. You're, like, really pretty.

 **Dallon Weekes:** I'm rolling my eyes. Add me on Skype. My username is DJWeekes.

/\

_breadurie wants to add you as a contact._

_accept | deny_

Dallon clicks accept, and the second he does, he gets the notification of a video call. He takes a few quick moments to organize his desk a bit before clicking on 'answer.' Brendon's face is a little blurry for a few moments until the video loads properly, and Dallon almost faints. He's greeted with probably one of the most beautiful grins ever, and the softest little, “Hello.”

Dallon smiles back shyly, and says a quick, “Hi,” back to Brendon.

“How's the grading going?” He asks, and Dallon spares him a glance.

“Boring. One of my students is really bigoted, and I just… I don't know why she's in my class. She doesn't like me in the first place since I'm bi, so she's totally disrespectful, and all of her essays and assignments are just… They lack signs of intelligence. I'll just put it that way.” Dallon sighs, and goes back to writing little notes between the lines of the aforementioned girl's essay.

“Sounds dumb. I'd kick her out of my class.”

“Well, I would, but she needs the credit,” He mutters quietly. “I don't like kicking students out of classes unless they're being especially insufferable. I'm here to teach.”

“Yeah. That's actually pretty cool. I wish I had teachers like you in high school.”

Dallon looks up with raised brows. “Boy, you don't even know if I'm a good teacher.”

“I can tell you are by how you just talked about your students. If it were me, that girl would be gone, but you're all patient and shit, which is pretty nice. So, how are you with people who have like, ADHD and shit?”

Dallon shrugs, and goes back to the essay again. “The school doesn't offer 504 Plans, since it's a college, but I tend to give shorter and simpler assignments to those who need it. One of my friends had ADHD, and school was hell for him, because teachers wouldn't even try to do their jobs right. A load of shit, if you ask me.”

“I have pretty bad ADHD. Good to know you're, like, good with that shit. You're definitely earning yourself some brownie points with me.”

Dallon chuckles. “Tell me about your day while I get to grading.”

“You gonna zone out, or are you gonna listen?”

“I can multitask, Brendon.”

“Alright, alright. Well, first off, I got woken up from Sarah's frickin' cat jumping on my head at, like, four in the morning.”

“Sounds rough.”

“Yeah. Anyways, I couldn't get back to sleep. After sitting around for a few hours, I went to my first lecture of the day, and almost died of boredom. I was so tempted to attempt suicide afterward. So, lunch time rolled around, and I was texting you while I was eating, then I had a few more classes before I got home. I have to go to work in a few hours.”

“What time is it for you?” Dallon asks, quietly, as he scribbles down the grade for the bigot before pulling out another essay to get started on.

“Nine right now. How about you?”

“Six; I don't have an evening lecture today. Why would you work at eleven?”

“I need to pay for whatever scholarships and grants don't cover somehow. Sarah helps with my tuition, since she has, like, four sugar daddies, but she still can't help a whole lot. Debt is honestly a tragic thing.” Brendon sighs, and Dallon looks up again, unable to help the small smile that comes across his face at the way Brendon pouts. “I hate being an adult.”

“Trust me, so do I.”

  


/\

  


**Brendon Urie:** Are you single

 **Dallon Weekes:** Yeah, actually. I just got out of a long term relationship. Guess you caught me at a good time, perhaps? ;)

 **Brendon Urie:** I guess so!

  


/\

  


“Brendon, that's so fucking adorable.” Sarah is gushing, and sighing wistfully. “Where does he live?”

“Creep.”

“Oh, just tell me.”

“Facebook says he lives in Malibu. Too bad we're in New York.” This time, it's Brendon's turn to sigh, before he groans at nothing in particular. _God, I already have it bad._

  


  


**Brendon Urie:** What are you doing on Christmas

 **Dallon Weekes:** Idk. My roommate went home for Christmas, and my parents kind of cut off contact with me, so probably nothing.

 **Brendon Urie:** Wanna hang out on Skype on Christmas?

 **Dallon Weekes:** Of course. It's better than being alone, getting drunk and feeling sorry for myself.

 **Brendon Urie:** I can't promise how entertaining I'll be, but I'm sure getting drunk and feeling sorry for yourself is fun with a friend ;P

 **Dallon Weekes:** Haha. Alright. Hit me up on x-mas whenever you're ready to get the lonely hearts club party going.

  


/\

  


Brendon's wearing the ugliest sweater he can find, along with a Santa hat, which causes Dallon to go into a laughing fit once he answers the call. “Hey, don't laugh at me. This is my version of a 'Sexy Santa' outfit.”

“And a very Sexy Santa you are,” Dallon replies, jokingly. (Or mostly jokingly. He thinks Brendon's hot; what can you do, y'know?)

“I'm flattered. Anyways, it's better than being in a boring band t-shirt like you are. I'm disappointed in you, Mister Weekes.”

“What are you? My mom?”

“I am now. Go put on a sweater, dude. Preferably a festive one.”

He huffs. “I'll go see if my roommate has anything especially ugly.”

Brendon watches him walk out of the room, and he allows himself a moment to at least attempt to half way recover from how both adorable and _hot_ the man he's been making a friend out of is. Dallon returns a few minutes later in a sweater that has the ugliest black cat knitted onto the front. “I don't know why he owns this, but how do I look?”

“Absolutely horrible. I love it.” Brendon grins, wide and genuine, earning a shy smile and an awkward shake of the head from Dallon.

They talk about their families, and Dallon explains how his parents were very committed Mormons, and the fact that their kid wasn't straight absolutely ruined them, then Brendon tells Dallon about how his kicked him out since he left the LDS church at seventeen. They also talk about favorite holidays, and discuss which shitty Christmas movies were/are the best, and they even have an in depth conversation about dick sucking before Brendon ends up having to cut the call, since it was late, and he really needed to sleep.

Needless to say, after that Christmas, they start talking even more than they had previously.

  


  


**Brendon Urie:** I got a question.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Hit me.

 **Brendon Urie:** Do I actually have a chance with you or is my flirting in vain

 **Dallon Weekes:** You've got a chance, trust me.

 **Brendon Urie:** NEAT

 **Dallon Weekes:** Do I have a chance…? :O

 **Brendon Urie:** Well duh obviously you do!

 **Dallon Weekes:** Good.

  


  


**Dallon Weekes:** [image attached]

 **Dallon Weekes:** I have a conference to go to, then a speech to give @ the conference in a few hours. Gotta dress fancy. What do you think?

 **Brendon Urie:** 10/10 would nut again. also your hips are adorable like i literally nutted over them I wanna squeeze them

 **Dallon Weekes:** Oh my god

 **Brendon Urie:** What's your speech about? I didn't peg you for the speech type.

 **Dallon Weekes:** LGBT+ stuff.

 **Brendon Urie:** What kind of LGBT stuff? That covers a lot of things, dude.

 **Dallon Weekes:** LGBT+ Rights, specifically trans rights at the moment, given the shit going on around the country right now.

 **Brendon Urie:** Oh that's cool. I didn't know you studied up on, like, trans stuff specifically.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Well, I do teach gay studies, and 'transgender' falls under LGBT+

 **Brendon Urie:** True, true.

 **Brendon Urie:** Also, is that Prada?

 **Dallon Weekes:** Yeah. I splurged a few years ago. I only wear this on super important occasions.

 **Brendon Urie:** Shit, man. You're not rich, are you?

 **Dallon Weeks:** Oh, god no. That suit took like six months of saving, and it isn't even that expensive as far as designer suits go. Anyways, I need to go get ready and prepare for everything. I'll talk to you afterward I guess.

 **Brendon Urie:** Good luck! :)

  


After that conversation, Brendon takes the deepest breath, and lets out a screech. Sarah yelps in alarm from somewhere else in the apartment before coming into his room to ask him what the _hell_ he's doing.

“Dallon sent me a selfie and he's fucking hot. Come look.”

She whistles under her breath when she sees. “Damn. I don't even feel sexual attraction but I'd still hit it.”

Brendon rolls his eyes and laughs.

  


  


Dallon sighs super loudly half way through the car ride from his shared apartment with Josh, to the conference hall where he's about to give a huge speech.

Josh spares him a glance while they're at a stop light. “What is it? You don't sigh like that very often.”

“I haven't told him yet.”

“About…?”

“Yeah. The thing.”

“You should. I mean, I've known Brendon since we were about eleven, and I know he's most likely going to be fine with it.”

“I like him, though, and what if he drops me on the off chance he's _not_ cool with it?” Dallon sighs again, and scrubs his hands down his face before he thwacks his head against the back of the seat.

“If he isn't, then he wasn't worth your time in the first place, but on the off chance he is, then this could be your chance at a happily ever after.”

“I thought I had happily ever after with Breezy, but we all know how that turned out.”

“Listen, it's not your fault that she suddenly decided that she didn't see you as a man anymore.”

He picks at a hangnail. “I know, I know. It's just—she was amazing, and even, like, supported me when I came out, supported me throughout the whole frickin' process of transitioning, but then she went and pulled that crap. Like, if someone who was awesome like her could do that, then why not Brendon?”

“Brendon's really into all that social justice stuff, and he has trans friends too. I know that doesn't automatically mean he's cool with it, but, listen—I know him a lot better than you do.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, and Josh ends up pulling into a gas station parking lot to talk his friend down from a panic attack. “Don't get all misty eyed on me, man. He's not like her. I've seen some of your conversations with him, and I've even talked to him myself, man. He's not going to pull that shit. If he does, I will seriously fly myself to New York to kick his little bitch ass.”

“His ass isn't small.”

Josh lets out a quick, wheezing laugh, and grins. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“You're a good best friend, man.”

“So are you, dude.”

  


  


**daddy weekes:** hey wanna call

 **bread:** um. so. whats with the name.

 **daddy weekes:** oh god fucking damnit josh changed my name again im going to kill him this time

 **bread:** he used to do that to me when we were in high school

 **bread:** anyways, i wanna see your cute little face ;)

 **bread:** ive had a rough day and talking to you always makes it better

 **daddy weekes:** me too

 **daddy weekes:** wanna complain together?

 **bread:** obviously

  


When Dallon picks up, he's saying, "You complain first," as he curls up in his blanket.

Brendon 'aww's at him, and Dallon sticks his tongue out.

"What? You're adorable."

"I'm twenty four. I'm too old to be adorable."

"Shut up, Dallon. I'm twenty two and I'm totally adorable. You can be too."

"Twenty two is the cut off age, man."

Brendon snorts. "You want me to complain, or do you want me to argue with you over how adorable you are?"

"Complain, please."

"Alright—where do I start..." Brendon taps his chin. "Well, my economics professor singled me out and embarrassed me in front of the class, and that's, like, one of my fears, I guess, meaning I ended up having an anxiety attack in one of the bathrooms. Sarah's out of town visiting family, so she wasn't there to let me cry on her. After that, I tripped on one of the steps on my way to my car, so my knee is all fucking bruised and hurts like a bitch, then my boss fired me, because I couldn't go to work because of my damn knee." Brendon's scrubbing at his eyes, and sighing. "I am so stressed today. Wanna come over and hug me?"

Dallon smiles sympathetically. "Would if I could, dude. My turn?"

Brendon nods. "Hell yeah. Hit me with the dirt."

Dallon chuckles a little bitterly, and moves his blanket to cover part of his face. "Well, I kicked the bigoted girl, and a few other students out of my class today. I hate doing that, but I have no tolerance for bullshit when it comes to certain things."

"What certain things? I thought you were patient and shit."

He sighs. "I don't know how to explain it."

"Dallon, dude—did you kill someone?"

He huffs. "No, nothing like that."

Brendon goes back and forth with Dallon, trying to get him to spit it out, before propositioning him. "I will suck your dick if you tell me what's going on."

The older man groans. "That's the _problem._ I don't _have_ a dick."

Brendon's eyes widen, and his brain is trying to figure out what Dallon meant. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me."

"What do you mean you don't have a _dick?"_

Dallon _sighs_ this time, and sits up, pulling his blanket from his torso.

"Oh, dude, please tell me you aren't taking your pants off."

Dallon rolls his eyes. "Chill. I'm not doing that. Listen—don't make fun of my chest, alright?" He mutters the request quietly as he peels his t-shirt off. He holds it against his chest for a few minutes, hiding, before letting it drop.

Brendon still hasn't figured it out, and Dallon really wants to whack him when he says, "Yo, what's with the scars?"

"They're from a _surgery."_ Dallon puts emphasis on the word surgery, and, alas, Brendon is still clueless.

"What the hell kind of surgery...? Were you, like, fat or something?"

"I've been skinny my whole damn life, dude. Will you shut up for a few minutes and let me complain? If you can do that, you'll figure out what I'm talking about."

Brendon seems to ponder the idea for a minute, before agreeing to keep his mouth shut until Dallon is done.

"Alright, a few of my students, like, the good ones, my _favorite_ ones, were at the place where I gave the speech, right? I kind of fibbed when I said it was about transgender rights. I mean, that was part of it of course, but I was talking about how it personally affected me, because I am... transgender." Dallon takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes for a moment before continuing. "Anyways, they were talking about it, and like... They thought it was cool that they had a bisexual and transgender guy teaching their gay studies class, but the few shitheads in the class overheard. When I walked into the class, late as usual, the girl piped up, said that I lied, and that I should have told everyone that I was actually a girl."

"But... you're a dude." Brendon frowns.

"Exactly. Anyways, her and the two others pitched in, and they argued with me before I told them to leave. I talked to the dean, and they're probably either going to get expelled, or they're going to get suspended or some other bullshit. I should've told you about that sooner. I get it if you aren't interested in me anymore."

Brendon rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Of _course_ I'm still interested in you. I don't care about that stuff. Like, I mean, I do, but not in a bad way. All I care about is that you're happy and all that jazz."

"Would you still bust a nut?"

Brendon giggles. "Hell yeah. You should put your shirt back on before I actually do."

Dallon does put it back on, and after that, they fall into a conversation that takes tons of turns, and either of them end up falling asleep in the call. Dallon only wakes up when Brendon's alarm goes off, and they take a second to laugh about how they fell asleep before Brendon hangs up so he can go take his morning shower before he has class.

  


  


**Dallon Weekes:** Are you sure the trans thing doesn't bother you…?

 **Brendon Urie:** Yes, I'm sure. I mean, I assume that being trans is a huge part of your life, but it doesn't define you. I genuinely like you for who you are, alright? I will remind you every day of my life. Pinky promise.

 **Dallon Weekes:** You're sweet.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Sorry about being insecure. My last girlfriend was really sweet and all, but eventually she dumped me because she didn't see me as a real man. Which sucked.

 **Brendon Urie:** Okay, well, I won't do that, assuming we're, like, a thing…?

 **Dallon Weekes:** I mean… I hope so? We've been talking almost constantly for like five months now, and you're kind of really awesome…?

 **Brendon Urie:** Do you wanna be a thing? I meaaan, I'm down. Definitely down for that.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Yes.

 **Brendon Urie:** FUCK YEAH.

 **Dallon Weekes:** chill

 **Brendon Urie:** dude no im not chilling ive got a really frickin gorgeous not established boyfriend ok

 **Dallon Weekes:** Oh, hush. You're gonna make me blush.

  


  


At breakfast, a few days after dropping the bomb on Brendon, Dallon brings it up with Josh. “So, I told him.”

His friend looks up from his cereal, and blinks groggily, before mumbling out, “How'd it go?” around a mouthful of said cereal.

“He doesn't care.”

“In a good way…?”

“Yeah, in a good way.” He smiles a little dumbly before continuing. “He still likes me, he's still _interested,_ and he still thinks I'm hot.”

“Told you that he's cool. Brendon may act like a dick, and I don't know if he does with you, but he's super nice.”

“He's really nice to me, actually. We kind of agreed that we're like...”

“Dating?”

“No. We can't really date since I don't know him outside of Facebook and Skype, but like… we're a thing. You get me?”

Josh nods, knowingly. “Throw back to the time Tyler broke up with me because he moved back to Ohio to finish his degree.” Josh rolls his eyes. “Literally the worst day of my life.”

“Well, yeah, but he at least came back to tuck his tail and apologize. Also, at least _you_ get to see him.”

“You should visit Brendon or something, man. Ask him to be your boyfriend and shit like that.”

“Yes, I'll just take five hundred dollars that I don't have just to travel to New York, out of nowhere, in the middle of finals week.”

Josh rolls his eyes, and calls Dallon a smart ass before he gets up to go get dressed for his classes.

  


  


**Brendon Urie:** [image attached]

 **Brendon Urie:** hey daddy

 **Dallon Weekes:** Stop immediately.

 **Brendon Urie:** I was kidding omg

 **Brendon Urie:** Listen, I look good today. I have to show off. Also, I'm not huge on sexting.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Well, you do look good. I will not argue with that. Also, that's good. I'm not too huge on it either. I mean, I can be nasty, but it's still kind of weird.

 **Brendon Urie:** How nasty

 **Dallon Weekes:** Seriously?

 **Brendon Urie:** Let me be a fuckboy.

 **Dallon Weekes:** I think the nastiest thing I've ever said would have to be, “I will suck your dick so hard, that when you cum, it'll feel like your soul is leaving your body.”

 **Brendon Urie:** LMAO

 **Dallon Weekes:** I got blocked by the guy I said that to.

 **Brendon Urie:** Well, if you want to suck my soul out of me via the dick, feel free ;)

 **Dallon Weekes:** You really are a fuckboy, aren't you?

 **Brendon Urie:** I mean, _yeah._ On a scale of one to ten, how good are your dick sucking skills?

 **Dallon Weekes:** Idk probably a 3. I've only been with cis girls.

 **Dallon Weekes:** How good are _you_ at oral in general (I'm wiggling my eyebrows. Also, why are we having this conversation?)

 **Brendon Urie:** I don't wanna boast, but I haven't had any complaints from any guys or gals. (I don't know, man. Honestly, I'm sitting here laughing because this is ridiculous.)

 **Dallon Weekes:** I'll keep that in mind :^)

 **Brendon Urie:** Yet you call me the fuckboy.

 **Dallon Weekes:** We're both fuckboys. You're just worse than I am.

  


  


**Dallon Weekes:** I need reassurance

 **Brendon Urie:** Why (I'm about to drive Sarah to a doctor's appointment, so sorry if my replies are spotty)

 **Dallon Weekes:** (It's cool.) I'm just having a bad day

 **Brendon Urie:** And now I am in the waiting room while she does that. How's your day bad?

 **Dallon Weekes:** Had an appointment with my gynecologist this morning.

 **Brendon Urie:** I winced. Ow. That sounds like a recipe for a bad time.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Just imagine like, really disrespectful nurses not respecting that I am a grown ass man, then a gynecologist who won't say shit/defend me even though she knows. Like, even legally I am a man. This is dumb and I am so, so close to shooting up the clinic.

 **Brendon Urie:** Don't do that. I can't be in a relationship with a convict.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Who said I'm going to get caught

 **Brendon Urie:** You sly son of a bitch. It gets me all hot and tingly when you act like a bad ass.

 **Dallon Weekes:** I'm trying to defend my honor, not give you a boner.

 **Brendon Urie:** I'll try to keep my dick under control, but it'll be hard, since you're one sexy beast.

 **Dallon Weekes:** “It'll be hard.”

 **Brendon Urie:** Exactly.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Permission to hate you?

 **Brendon Urie:** Nope. You have permission to love me and worship me as your god, though.

 **Dallon Weekes:** How about the first one?

 **Brendon Urie:** I think I can settle with that.

 **Dallon Weekes:** One condition, though. You gotta love me back.

 **Brendon Urie:** Consider it done.

 **Dallon Weekes:** And now my day is suddenly perfect. Thanks.

 **Brendon Urie** : Anytime.

  


  


**Brendon Urie:** Hi

 **Dallon Weekes:** Hello

 **Brendon Urie:** So I was asking one of my trans friends for relationship advice

 **Dallon Weekes:** Are we about to have an awkward conversation

 **Brendon Urie:** Possibly.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Okay. Are you about to break up with me? That's all I wanna know right now.

 **Brendon Urie:** No way, man. The day I do that is the day I die. Trust me. B)

 **Dallon Weekes:** You're kind of a dweeb.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Anyways, continue on with what you were talking about.

 **Brendon Urie:** Okay, well, despite being a total stud, I'm still awkward, and bad at asking you things directly, so I talked to the person I told you about because I had questions about the 's' word.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Sex?

 **Brendon Urie:** Yes. I was instructed to talk to you myself rather than asking someone else. Which is a totally logical solution.

 **Dallon Weekes:** I mean. I like sex. And it's been a while since I've gotten laid, I guess. Your parents gave you the talk, right?

 **Brendon Urie:** Of course they did. A watered down Mormon version centered around abstinence, but they did. I mean, we've joked about like… sex stuff sometimes, but like… Okay, is this a bad time to have that talk? Do you wanna save it for later? I mean, this, our thing, has only been going on for a few months.

 **Dallon Weekes:** I mean I really like you, so we probably should have this talk…? I haven't had sex with anyone who has a dick before. Yikes.

 **Brendon Urie:** I have. And if you were a cis guy, I could totally give you an All You Need To Know on anal sex when it comes to people with dicks, but, like y'know. They aren't that scary? If your dick person knows what they're doing, at least.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Are you a dick person who knows what he's doing

 **Brendon Urie:** You're a professor in gay studies, I'm basically a professor on safe sex in just about all forms.

 **Dallon Weekes:** So you think we're gonna get to a place to where we'd like… do that?

 **Brendon Urie:** If you hadn't noticed I'm kind of like… really into you.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Okay, listen, for some reason I still thought you weren't actually _serious_ about like. us. If you feel me.

 **Brendon Urie:** I can understand that. I dunno. The friend also told me that like… some trans people are okay with certain things whereas others aren't? I don't know a lot about this stuff, and considering that I love you (I was serious when I said that hopefully its not creepy) I figured that it's probably a good thing to learn.

 **Dallon Weekes:** (I was serious too.) (I'm the kind of person who just goes with the flow of things, so don't worry. I'll tell you if things are going too fast. If you were worried, that is.) That is very true. I mean, I'm kind of scared about that stuff, but it's mostly like… anxiety. “Am I doing this wrong?” “Am I bad?” “(insert something about body/self image)?” I've also only done sexual things with one person anyways. I think it's one of those things that we're gonna just have to tackle when the time comes, I guess…?

 **Brendon Urie:** Is this a bad time to say I'm hard

 **Dallon Weekes:** I am this close to blocking you on Facebook.

 **Dallon Weekes:** [insert picture of two fingers held close together]

 **Brendon Urie:** My mind wanders, okay? I can't help it.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Listen, I'm not innocent here either, but you're the one who brought up your boner. I'm at least private about my metaphorical one.

 **Brendon Urie:** No, man, you got a boner. Dick or not, you have a boner. Spiritual boners are just as important as physical boners. Anyways, what _really_ is a boner?

 **Dallon Weekes:** Please tell me you aren't about to wax poetic over boners, or that you're about to get existential on me.

 **Brendon Urie:** Is a boner only defined by dick? Why are dick people the only ones able to have boners? Why can't the others have them too? #BonersAreASocialConstruct

 **Dallon Weekes:** I can't believe I'm saying this, but boner buddies?

 **Brendon Urie:** Yes. Boner Buddies 4 lyfe.

  


  


“So, how's it going with your boyfriend, who, by the way, I'm still not convinced is real?” Pete's wiggling his eyebrows, and leaning across the table that's in the middle of the food court in a fucking mall, giving Brendon one of the most suggestive looks possible.

“Pete, I've told you a million times—he's _real._ I've even shown you my Facebook conversations with him.”

“I dunno, man. You were single for a while.”

“Six months. I was single for six months.”

“Alright, alright. Spill the tea, dude.”

“I think I might actually love him.”

“Oh really? This isn't going to end up being another Ryan situation, is it?”

“I was sixteen during the whole Ryan Debacle, dude. Anyways—just—I get all happy and butterflies in the stomach whenever I talk to him, and even though we haven't had a chance to meet, I think like… he's it. I mean, I don't know for sure, of course, but I can feel it, I guess. It sounds dumb.”

Pete hushes Brendon. “It doesn't sound dumb, my young bisexual child.”

“I'm older than you.”

“I'm older than you in queer years.”

“I had sex like two years before you did.”

“Shut up and let me have this, Brendon.”

“Alright. Asshole.”

Pete makes kissy noises at Brendon, earning him a middle finger and a roll of the eyes.

  


  


**Josh Dun:** [image attached]

 **Brendon Urie:** What the fuck is he doing and why is he only in his underwear

 **Josh Dun:** He's drunk, and trying to reenact the one scene from Titanic.

 **Josh Dun:** [image attached]

 **Josh Dun:** Now, here he is, in the process of giving me a drunken lecture on why Jack dying was a load of shit, and how Rose was a selfish cunt for not letting him on the piece of wood or whatever with her, since there was enough room.

 **Brendon Urie:** I'm still confused on why he's only in his underwear.

 **Josh Dun:** Dude, he rarely ever wears anything _but_ underwear when he's at home. The only times I see him dressed is if he's talking to you on Skype, or if he's getting ready to go to work.

 **Josh Dun:** [image attached]

 **Josh Dun:** Dallon, in his natural habitat, running at me because he caught me taking pictures.

 **Brendon Urie:** I'm setting that as my wallpaper.

 **Josh Dun:** “I don't want him seeing my nipples!” -Drunk Dallon.

 **Brendon Urie:** They're so tiny aww.

 **Josh Dun:** dont ufckgin aww at my nipples yuou as s

 **Josh Dun:** [image attached]

 **Josh Dun:** hers jsoh, in his natural habitatti , trying to gete shi phonse back

 **Brendon Urie:** Dallon, you should eat something, drink some water, then go to bed. And Josh, you should be a bro and set some Advil or something next to his bed for his hangover.

 **Josh Dun:** I have my phone back now, and also, will do.

  


  


**Brendon Urie:** Is it possible to miss someone you haven't even met before

 **Dallon Weekes:** I think so, yeah. Why do you ask?

 **Brendon Urie:** I'm sad and lonely and I need someone to cuddle with but you live too far for that

 **Dallon Weekes:** Do you wanna video call…? This is one of the rare nights that I don't have anything to grade, since it's finals week.

 **Brendon Urie:** Pleeeaaaase :( I want to be all gross and adorable with you

  


Brendon breathes a sigh of relief when Dallon answers the video call. “After the shit day I've had, you don't know how great it is to see your face.”

“Isn't it about one for you?”

Brendon nods, and pulls his blanket tighter around himself. “Yeah. Can't sleep. It's ten for you, right?”

“Yep. I was out with Josh all afternoon, grocery shopping and shit.”

“Wait, do you live him?”

“Rent's ridiculous here, so we split it.”

“It is here, too. Man, we live in two of the most expensive cities in America. Are we stupid, or are we stupid?” Brendon pouts, and Dallon snorts.

“Yeah. Wanna be stupid together?”

“Of course. I can't wait until this week is over, because I'll be done with finals, and then I'll have a whole three months off before I have to go back in the fall.”

“Yeah, same.”

“I forgot that you're a professor.”

“Rude. I have your class schedule memorized, yet you forgot my profession.”

“You… you have that memorized?”

“Well—” Dallon sputters for a minute before figuring out what to say. “You always tell me what you're doing, so after, like, four months of that, you start to pick things up.”

Brendon giggles. “I'm not trying to bust your balls, man. I was joking. I'm just bad at remembering things sometimes. Also, I've had a long day, alright?”

“Fair enough.” On the other side of the screen, Dallon is also under a blanket, trying not to doze off while he watches Brendon's face. “You're kind of like really gorgeous. You know that, right?”

He huffs and pushes his kind of long brown hair out of his face. “Thanks, Dallon. You're kind of like really gorgeous yourself.”

“Don't mimic me, asshole.”

“I just love how you know how to sweet talk me, y'know?”

Dallon snorts, and almost laughs as Brendon goes red from what he says next. “If I was with you in person, I'd probably be leaning in to kiss you right about now.”

“Stop. I'm too gay for this shit.” Hands are on his face now.

“Brendon, you're bi.”

“Still. I'm too gay.”

The older of the two chuckles. “I like you a lot.”

“I like you a lot too.”

  


  


**Dallon Weekes:** I wish I could just… go back to January or something.

 **Brendon Urie:** You do you, but I don't. January was hell this year.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Consider this: I live in California.

 **Brendon Urie:** Okay, true, but still. How hot is it right now?

 **Dallon Weekes:** It's ten and it just hit a hundred.

 **Brendon Urie:** Holy shit are you okay it's like sixty something here

 **Dallon Weekes:** No I'm not. Josh isn't even here to suffer with me, which pisses me off. He went to freaking Ohio, and like, sure, I get it, he misses his boyfriend, but as his best friend, I think he needed to at _least_ take me with him.

 **Brendon Urie:** Give me a few months. I'll start walking to come save you.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Well, you live close enough to Ohio, so the least you could do is kick Josh's ass for me. Please.

 **Brendon Urie:** I'll look into it. Want me to kick Tyler's ass too?

 **Dallon Weekes:** Honestly, yeah. Beat up Mr. NBA.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Did I mention that my air conditioning quit working? Another reason Josh is about to get a boot to the ass, especially since he left me all on my own to deal with this.

 **Brendon Urie:** Can you get it fixed?

 **Dallon Weekes:** I'm waiting for my landlord to do something. It's not my fault that the AC broke, so I don't have to pay for it, but whether or not he's going to get it fixed within the next few days is a whooole other story. Can I just go live in Alaska or something? It's cold there. I can deal with cold. I wasn't meant for heat. I'm going to sweat to death.

 **Brendon Urie:** I'll go with you, man. Can't let you brave the wilds of Alaska on your own. Wanna build a cabin, and be lumberjacks when we get there?

 **Dallon Weekes:** Sounds like a plan, my man.

 **Brendon Urie:** If that wasn't intentional, I'll forgive you.

 **Dallon Weekes:** I'm prepared to not be forgiven. :)

 **Brendon Urie:** Wow. Bye.

 **Dallon Weekes:** :)

  


  


**Dallon Weekes:** Are we close enough that I can casually talk about masturbating

 **Brendon Urie:** I think so, yeah.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Good, because, holy shit, I'm fucking frustrated. I haven't had a chance to be alone in the apartment for a _month_ because fucking Tyler is visiting, and him and Josh have been fucking almost constantly, and I'm too embarrassed to get off while they're here. (Important to note that I'm just a tad bit loud. And by tad bit, I mean very.) And when they're not here, I'm either out with them, or I'm just out in general. I am so horny.

 **Brendon Urie:** They fuck? With you there?

 **Dallon Weekes:** I've lived with Josh for four years. He's shameless whenever he's entertaining now. Once you live with someone for that long, boundaries as far as privacy goes gets a little skewed.

 **Brendon Urie:** I mean, I'm not surprised at the fucking part, but damn. Sounds awkward. Thankfully, my roommate is asexual.

 **Dallon Weekes:** If you ever visit, we need to fuck at least once, and we have to be loud, just to give Joshua a taste of his own medicine.

 **Brendon Urie:** I actually laughed pretty hard at that. Not too sure why, but the situation sounds like it'd be ridiculous, but also hilarious. I'm not particularly quiet either, so I think we're gonna be just fine with that plan. :^)

 **Dallon Weekes:** Are you busy

 **Brendon Urie:** Not a bit. Why? (I'm on the Facebook website, so just pretend the eyes emoji is here.)

 **Dallon Weekes:** Well, I think that talking about my dilemma with you shifted some sort of spiritual thing, because they just left the apartment. And I just conveniently happen to have our conversation on Skype open.

 **Brendon Urie:** Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting

 **Dallon Weekes:** Maybe

  


  


**bread:** okay we gotta do that again sometime holy crap

 **weekes:** you have a potty mouth lemme tell you

 **bread:** I am aware of that and im not gonna apologize

 **weekes:** never do :)

  


  


Dallon's rushing out of his room, in only underwear and a tank top, considering it's, like, over a hundred degrees, and the air conditioner isn't working _that good,_ the second he hears the apartment door opening again. Dallon, the silly thing he is, forgets that Tyler isn't his roommate, and that he isn't used to bluntness, at least not from the twenty four year old, and the older of the two figures this out after the shocked and slightly mortified look that comes across his face as Dallon blurts out, “I just had Skype sex with Brendon and it was so fucking weird.”

“Brendon? _Ew.”_ Tyler makes a gagging noise, and excuses himself from the room, ripping a string of giggles from Josh and Dallon both.

“Talk to me, man. What's Skype sex like?”

“Oh, you know what it's like, Josh. You act as if I haven't heard you and Tyler going at it whenever he's in Ohio.”

Josh huffs. “Yeah, true. Also, here,” He hands Dallon a large iced tea from McDonald's and in his head, Dallon is totally worshiping Josh right about now. “You get to see his dick?”

“Dude, yeah. Dicks are so weird. Like, I don't got one, and I've only been with girls, so seeing an _actual_ dick, even if it wasn't in person, was so _weird.”_

Josh waggles his eyebrows, and tries not to give Dallon a stupid grin when he asks, “D'ya like dick?”

“Pretty sure. Fuck. That was like a religious experience, dude.”

“I don't think I've ever seen you more excited for anything in the four years I've known you.

“I can't help it. I feel like a teenager again, and not a twenty four year old who hasn't gotten laid in two years.”

“Oh, god, a two year dry spell? How do you live?”

“I don't. I've been dead on the inside since I was, like, five.”

  


  


**Brendon Urie:** Can I ask how tall you are like I've always been curious

 **Dallon Weekes:** Not tall at all. I was hoping I'd get to be, like, 6'4” or something after HRT and stuff, but I'm like 5'7” sadly.

 **Brendon Urie:** omg

 **Dallon Weekes:** What

 **Brendon Urie:** You're the only guy in my life besides Pete who's shorter than me. Holy shit.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Oh my god you're gonna rub this in my face all the time now, aren't you?

 **Brendon Urie:** Listen, I'm 5'7.5” but I'm still taller.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Oh my god. At least I can rest easy knowing I have such a tall boyfriend to take care of me. (I'm rolling my eyes.)

 **Brendon Urie:** I would never let a thing hurt you, my darling prince.

 **Dallon Weekes:** Ew you're so gross and corny yet I like it

 **Brendon Urie:** :)

  


  


**weekes:** what are you doing on thanksgiving

 **bread:** sitting in my apartment, alone, eating pizza, same as every year

 **weekes:** okay this miiiight be a little much

 **weekes:** but I might or might not have gotten a raise + a bonus

 **weekes:** and I miiiight or miiiiiiiight not be able to afford plane tickets

 **bread:** what are u suggesting

 **weekes:** im just saying that my roommate is going to be in ohio with his family for thanksgiving and that we're both gonna be alone

 **weekes:** unless

 **weekes:** u know

 **bread:** but what if u dont like me in person

 **weekes:** im pretty sure thats impossible

 **weekes:** I mean if u dont wanna visit or if u dont want me to visit then thats fine but like

 **weekes:** I dont always have a spare few thousand dollars to blow on stuff like this

 **weekes:** just like… consider that

 **bread:** dont get me wrong cuz I do but like

 **bread:** anxiety u kno

 **weekes:** no man I know ive had like 10 panic attacks just bringing this up (exaggeration but im having heart palpitations and my hands are shaking because im excited)

 **bread:** I have irl business to attend to here soon but when I get home later do you wanna talk about this seriously

 **weekes:** I have a class in a few minutes anyways but whenever I get home frm work ill hit you up :)

 **bread:** :) !!!

  


  


Brendon exhales pretty sharply as he plops down next to Sarah on their couch. “You're sighing. What did Dallon do?”

“He didn't do anything, that's the thing. Okay, so, for Thanksgiving, you're going home, right?'

“That's correct, yes.”

“Alright, well, Dallon's parents basically disowned him for coming out, and we know how mine are, so either of us are gonna be alone, right? Josh is going to Ohio for Thanksgiving with Tyler and his family, and Dallon has a little extra money set aside since he got a bonus, and a raise, so he asked if I wanted to visit for thanksgiving.”

“And? What did you say?” She's looking at him expectantly.

“I said I'd think about it.”

She scoffs and whacks him in the arm. “Go say yes, you dummy! I've listened to you pout and whine about not being able to see him in person, and now that you have an opportunity, you're suddenly getting cold feet.”

“It's just—I'm worried, alright? What if he doesn't like me?”

“That's a load of shit and you know it. Both of you are obviously crazy about each other, so I don't get why you're pussyfooting around with this. If you don't say yes, I'm going to log into your Skype account and say it for you. I still have your password saved on my laptop.”

Brendon groans. “I'll tell him tomorrow.”

“Brendon—”

“Alright, fine! I'll go tell him now.”

/\

 **Brendon Urie:** Okay Sarah chewed me a new asshole because I was (or am) nervous about actually SEEING you so yes. I am saying yes before I can wuss out of it.

 **Dallon Weekes:** You sure…?

 **Brendon Urie:** Yes I am. My only condition is that you best cuddle with me and at least kiss me once, okay?

 **Dallon Weekes:** Oh, trust me, you're probably going to get a lot more than a kiss. I think, right now, I am quite possibly the happiest & giddiest I've ever been in my entire life. I literally just kissed Josh out of excitement, and he's giving me dirty looks.

 **Dallon Weekes:** [image attached]

 **Brendon Urie:** Are you _crying_

 **Dallon Weekes:** Maaaaaaaaybe

  


  


**Brendon Urie:** I'm in Chicago waiting for a connecting flight.

 **Dallon Weekes:** I'm already dressed and ready to leave my apartment and we still have like four hours. This all feels so surreal.

 **Brendon Urie:** The only thing I hate about having an anxiety disorder, besides the panic attacks, is that I shake uncontrollably whenever I'm nervous or excited, let alone a combination of both.

 **Dallon Weekes:** I don't know if I can handle this. I'm literally gonna throw up I'm seriously so excited but also so ridiculously nervous that you wouldn't even believe it.

 **Brendon Urie:** I probably would. Also, my flight's boarding, so I gotta go. I'll see you soon. Literally.

  


  


Brendon bites at his thumbnail nervously while he waits for his bag to come around on the conveyer belt. It takes a good ten minutes before he finally sees it. He grabs it, and starts wheeling it towards a bench, but he gets stopped about half way when _someone_ grips his arm tight and yanks him into a hug that's just about damn near suffocating. Brendon returns the hug, obviously, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't tearing up and choking on gleeful sobs.

When Dallon pulls away from the hug, either of them are gripping each others shoulders something fierce, and Brendon's the first one to make any sort of move. He reaches a hand up to cup Dallon's cheek, and it's like something out of a movie. He brushes the older man's hair out of his face, and quietly manages to get out, “You are so much more gorgeous in person than you are through a webcam. Holy shit.”

Dallon smiles way too widely, and _giggles._ “I can say the same for you. Your eyes are—they're gorgeous. I think I might be obsessed.”

“We should probably get going. We're kind of in the way.” Brendon looks around them, and snorts at the few dirty looks they're getting.

Dallon wipes at his eyes, and agrees with a soft laugh. He doesn't let Brendon carry his own suitcase, causing the younger of the two to drop a sly comment about Dallon being such a _gentleman._ “Oh, pipe down. You just spent seven hours traveling to see me. Carrying your suitcase is the least I can do.” _As is holding your hand while we walk, because I honestly don't think I can handle not touching you for even a minute._

In the car, either of them meet half way in leaning across the console to execute a messy, clumsy, teeth-clashing kind of first kiss. Either of them are good at kissing, but of course, this one is fucking terrible, but do they care? Oh, lord no. They just—they both feel blessed to _finally_ be able to do this. So, ridiculously _bless_ _ed_ _._

After the initial excitement, the kiss gets better. It's not heated or anything, but it is an emotional one. A very emotional one. Dallon's the first to pull away, again, as he's saying. “I can't fucking believe you're real.”

“Ditto. I don't think I can spend the hour it takes to get from here to Malibu without being all over you.”

“Well, you gotta try, because I'm the one with a California driver's license.”

Brendon grumbles playfully, and settles on one or two or seven more kisses before he allows Dallon to go back over to his side of the console.

  


  


Once standing safely inside of Dallon's apartment, Dallon asks, “What do we do now?”

“Honestly, I think I could use a nap. I'm a little tuckered out from traveling.”

Dallon nods thoughtfully before asking another very important question. “Are you a big or little spoon?”

Brendon seems to size him up before answering. “Depends on the person, but I'm gonna say that I'm a little spoon right now.”

Dallon nods again. “That's quite fortunate, because I'm probably the biggest spoon.”

“Oh, you aren't that big, man. If not for the fact that you're the same height as me, I'd say that you're a string bean.”

Dallon rolls his eyes. “You wanna cuddle with me or not? Height comments are the number one way to get kicked out.”

“Yeah, but, like, you wouldn't dare kick me out, and leave me to my own devices when… Well, listen, I can't find a reason, but when I think of one, I'll tell you.”

Dallon chuckles. “I'll make a deal. Keep the height comments to a minimum, and then we can take a nap together and totally be disgusting and adorable while we're at it, alright?”

“I think I can come to terms with that.” Brendon smirks, before stepping closer to Dallon again to kiss him, softly, on the lips.

Dallon leads him to his bedroom, and once in the room, Brendon's saying, “Wow, shit. Your room is bigger than I thought it was.”

“You've only seen it from my bed and my desk.”

“What size bed do you have, because that's fucking huge.”

“King sized, and it's memory foam. When I moved out, this was the first thing I saved to buy. Cost a pretty penny, but my back doesn't hurt in the mornings, so I figure it's a fair trade.”

“See, you're smarter than I am,” Brendon starts as he sits on the edge of the bed to start taking his shoes off. “I blow all my money immediately, rather than saving, usually. I'm not incapable, but I'm impulsive.”

“I can sympathize.”

“Oh, hey, full disclosure, but I usually sleep in my underwear. If it bugs you, I can put on sweatpants or something.” Brendon shrugs as he peels his jeans off. “Oh, holy shit, I never realize how much I hate skinny jeans until I've been stuck in them for a day.”

Dallon rolls his eyes. “You're fine on the underwear. Usually, I sleep either naked or in my underwear anyways. Just as long as you can deal with my cold feet and hands, then I think I can deal with your underwear.”

“I think I need cold feet and hands. I'm basically a space heater.” Brendon peels his shirt off next, then lazily rolls across Dallon's bed.

Brendon averts his gaze when Dallon starts peeling his own clothes off, until the older man is saying, “You can look atme, dude.”

Brendon totally obviously checks Dallon out, and the older man snorts. “You have a nice ass.”

“Thanks. I try my best.”


	9. Chapter 9

 

**INTRODUCTION START**

 

Tyler Joseph—he's your classic, closeted, innocent, kind, goodhearted, loving, caring, gay Christian boy. He denies, and denies, and denies, and—well, you get the point. He totally refuses the accept the fact that he's gay. Tyler Joseph? Gay? Oh, good lord, there's no way. Or, well, at least he'd like you to _think._

The truth is, he's very gay. He just won't admit it to _himself_. Hell, he even had a girlfriend for a good three years. Jenna Black—your typical pretty blond girl with blue eyes—the kind of girl that almost any guy would be tripping over their Adidas for. She's a fucking dream, and Tyler Joseph happened to be lucky enough to have her.

Until he didn't.

He believes that her breaking up with him happened to be the thing that started the gay domino effect of bullshit in his life. He believes that her breaking up with him, for a _girl,_ is what started the gay domino effect of bullshit in his life. He truly believes that.

He doesn't think that it has anything to do with the fact that there's this… that there's this _new_ kid. This totally hot, mysterious, bad-ass new kid that pretty much every girl, and, hell, quite a few of the boys even—he's that guy that everyone just fucking _drools_ over. Everyone wants him, but no one can have him.

Even Tyler Joseph will openly admit that he wants Joshua Dun in any way, shape, or form that he can. Tyler figures that he's dug himself too big of a hole, though, and that the Joseph-Dun union will never happen in any way, shape, or form that he can _imagine._

Like a lot of things in his life, he thinks that the Joseph-Dun union will never happen. Of course, though, it does. It starts off as a friendship first, though. A very sudden and impromptu friendship.

After the Black-Joseph union had run its course, and after Tyler had been singled out by all of the _cool kids_ for reportedly turning the pretty blond girl gay, well, he became a bit of a social pariah. Kind of like Joshua Dun.

Joshua Dun—he's your typical sexually ambiguous and mildly androgynous punk kid. That's probably part of why Tyler Joseph was drawn to him in the first place. On top of just being flat out gorgeous, he's _intimidating._ Tyler—he's a meek little thing. Like previously mentioned, he's a goodhearted and totally straight Christian boy, and he's not the kind of guy to hang around guys like _Josh._

Joshua Dun also happens to be the kind of guy that just screams _trouble_ from a mile away. The first time Tyler had a chance to blatantly stare at the guy, he counted _eight_ piercings just on his face/ears, not to mention the one time Joshua Dun only wore a very thin t-shirt and Tyler noticed what he thinks are nipple piercings.

He's the kind of guy you don't want your kids to hang around, in fear of him getting them into trouble, turning them into drug addicts, or, hell, maybe even turning them gay. No one talks to him. He's scary. People think he's mean. People start rumors about him too.

 

_“Oh, Tiffany, I heard he only moved here because he got expelled for stabbing someone.”_

_“But, Brianna, I heard that he moved here because he was caught nailing a teacher in the teachers' lounge while doing weed.”_

 

Although Josh will openly admit to being a stoner, he isn't mean, and he hasn't done any of those things. He isn't even scary once you get to know him. He's _nice._ He's _too_ nice _._ That's why he looks the way he does. He's _tired_ of people taking advantage, _tired_ of people _using_ him, tired of people only coming to him when they _want_ something. He's just _tired._ He just wants everyone to leave him the fuck alone so he can learn in peace.

Joshua Dun has a lot of pent up anger, despite being a sweetheart. Anyone can be angry though, honestly. He was raised religious, but unlike Tyler Joseph, he didn't stuff himself into the closet. He looked at everyone, and said, “To hell with it,” and did what he wanted. If someone didn't like the way he was, then fuck them.

Back to our little love story, though. Tyler Joseph and Joshua Dun meet inside of an abandoned building in a shady part of Columbus. It's one of those places that Tyler Joseph goes to when he needs to get away from his family and his friends. It's one of those places that Joshua Dun goes to when he needs to get away from his own parents, and when he needs to think about things; his life, in particular.

Either of them have gone to the building a lot over the past few years, but they never managed to cross paths until now. The second Tyler Joseph hears the door to the building creak, and footsteps walking inside, he pretty much just loses his shit. He's about halfway across the room, heading towards a window, when Joshua Dun spots him. “Hey, dude, I'm not a cop or anything. I'm just here to smoke some pot and think about typical angsty teenager things.”

Tyler Joseph's face immediately goes pale, his hands grow cold and clammy, not to mention the fact that his heart stops and the air rushes from his lungs out of nowhere. Joshua Dun, the gorgeous punk guy that has thrown Tyler Joseph into a sexuality crisis is standing right in front of him, looking dead tired, desperate, sad, and maybe even lonely.

“You can stay if you want. I'm not above bribing you with some weed.”

“Um—uh—I don't—I don't smoke.” Tyler Joseph happens to be a stammering mess when it comes to cute boys, or Joshua Dun in particular. He hasn't ever even _talked_ to the boy before. He's only watched him from afar like a whimsical schoolgirl with a schoolyard crush. Actually, that's exactly the way he's watched the boy, but the only difference is that he isn't a girl.

“Don't start, then. Do we go to the same school? You look familiar.” Joshua Dun is kind of lying a little bit. He knows _full well_ who Tyler Joseph is. He's seen the boy around, definitely, and he totally doesn't have a crush on him. Joshua Dun doesn't know Tyler's name, but he does know that he's the pretty boy, and almost prince-like in how he looks. Joshua Dun thinks the boy is royalty, and he is totally not close to breaking down and just groveling.

“I—I think. Capitol, right?”

“Yeah. That one. What grade are you in?”

“Eleventh. Uh—how about you?” At this point, Tyler Joseph is walking towards Joshua Dun, to sit down with him against one of the walls of the building.

“Eleventh. Again.”

“Again?” Tyler Joseph's eyes pretty much bug out of his head. _Again?_ One of his worst _fears_ is getting held back. If he were to get held back, let alone even get a grade lower than a B, his parents would have his head, and he wouldn't be surprised if he got beat with a bible. Or a belt. It's an oddly specific thought. It leaves the average person wondering about his home life, doesn't it?

“Yeah. I had some trouble last year, you know?”

“I can—I can relate, yeah. I haven't exactly had a pretty time myself recently.”

Tyler Joseph just gets a knowing nod and a slightly sympathetic look out of Joshua Dun. “Are you gay?”

And now Tyler Joseph is coughing on his spit, giving Joshua Dun an incredulous look. “How—how did you _know?”_

“I'm bi. It's easy for queers to pick others out once you know what to look for.” He shrugs as he pulls a lighter out, and Tyler Joseph watches as he lights up what looks like a cigarette but definitely doesn't _smell_ like one.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. I'm—I'm gay. I haven't actually said it out loud before.” He goes silent for a few minutes, before putting in a request. “Please don't tell anyone. Aside from myself, you're the only person who knows.”

“Dude, I would _never._ That's like, the number one rule of gay etiquette. Don't out anyone. It's just a douchey thing to do, you know?”

Tyler Joseph nods. Joshua Dun is surprisingly nice, and ridiculously charming. “Good to know. Are you out? Or—is that—is that too invasive? Jeez, sorry.” Tyler Joseph is scrubbing a hand down his face.

“I mean, I'm not _out,_ but I'm not _in_ the closet either. I don't go around telling people I'm queer, but if someone were to ask, I'd tell them the truth. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

Again, Tyler Joseph nods, and goes silent for a few more minutes before thinking of something else to say. Or ask. “What's your name?” He knows, but he figures introductions are a safe bet.

“Josh.”

Tyler shakes the hand that's held out to him. “I'm Tyler.”

Tyler. Josh has a name now. His name is Tyler, and it's quite fitting. He looks like a Tyler. “I like your name. It's nice. Usually don't dig the name Tyler, but it suits you.”

“Um. Thanks I guess? I mean, I haven't met a Josh before. Your name is nice too.” Oh, good lord, Tyler is hit with the fact that he is absolutely horrendous at befriending people.

Joshua Dun just laughs a little bit, though. “Thanks. Why do _you_ come here?”

“Family and friends. My family is—uh—they're kind of overbearing I guess. My friends are… They're… You know.” Tyler Joseph pulls some vague hand signals, and Joshua Dun just looks at him, waiting for him to continue, to finish his sentence, to tell him what his friends are. “They're assholes. That's—that's what they are. That was the first time I've ever sworn. Huh.”

Joshua Dun grins a smile made of sunshine and gold and Tyler Joseph melts a little bit inside. The boy is beautiful and Tyler Joseph knows that he's already fucked. “I know you didn't ask, but I like to come here to think. It's quiet, and no one bothers me if I smoke weed here. I've had a few times I've had to skidaddle due to cops, but generally it's pretty nice.”

“Why haven't we ever talked before?”

Joshua Dun looks up, eyebrows raised. “Look at yourself, then look at me. You're a good kid. You come from a good family and people like you. You're conventionally attractive, and objectively attractive, not to mention you're not the slightest bit intimidating. You're one of the _good_ kids. Me, on the other hand—I'm an outcast. I'm the _one_ kid. I'm the guy that everyone avoids; the guy no one gives the light of day to. People leave me alone, and it'd pretty much be sacrilege if I were to talk to you.”

“Why would it be sacrilege? We're both people. I don't really see what social status or looks has to do with it. You're—you're nice looking, and you seem like a nice guy to me. You do look a little scary, and I'd be lying if I said you don't intimidate the hell out of me, but you're not a bad person. Why shouldn't we talk to each other?” Tyler Joseph is genuinely curious, and he's a little frustrated with other people, and how they're just so quick to judge.

“Honestly, I have no idea. I'm just a burnout and a nobody.”

“You're also a liar apparently. I just met you, but I can tell you're not a nobody.” Tyler Joseph nudges him in the arm with his hand, and Joshua Dun leans over to kiss him on the forehead. At that moment, Tyler Joseph dies and ascends to heaven, rosy cheeks and all.

Joshua Dun giggles at him. He's cute, just like he'd expected. Joshua Dun is pretty sure he has a crush, and after talking to Tyler Joseph for another hour, he comes to the conclusion that, yes, he definitely has a crush on him.

“Hey, I had a great time talking to you, but uh—I have to go home. My curfew is at ten, and dinner is at seven, and I'm about an hour's walk away from home, so I kind of have to go.” Tyler stands up, and dusts his knees off, then holds a hand out to help Josh up. Josh doesn't really need any help getting up, but it's an excuse to touch Tyler Joseph's hand, and he's the kind of guy that will take everything he can get.

He follows Tyler out of the building, then asks, “Can I walk you home?”

Tyler kind of looks at him.

“I mean—it's getting dark, and I'm the kind of guy who worries I guess. People don't fuck with me because, I mean, look at me,” he gestures his whole body; “but you're _you._ And I'm protective.”

Tyler blinks now, and goes a little red in the face. “Uh. Sure. Yeah. I'd like that.”

 

**INTRODUCTION END**

**PART ONE – TYLER – START**

 

Letting Josh walk you home is… it's an experience. Kind of. He's a soft person. His voice isn't gruff or mean like you expected it to be. It's soft, and smooth, kind of like honey. His eyes are warm, and inviting, and you really don't know why the other kids are so cruel towards him. You don't know why they just ignore him, or why they avoid him. He's so _nice._

He talks to you the whole way to your house, and wraps an arm around your shoulder once it's actually dark, and, okay, your heart flutters a little bit. The hottest guy, the most mysterious guy, the _sexiest_ guy in your school is paying attention to _you_ and you're not sure what you did to deserve it. Maybe you didn't do anything. You're not sure. The point is, Joshua William Dun _likes_ you, and he _talked_ to you.

Josh gives you a quick hug, and then slips his phone number into your jacket pocket before waving and walking, presumably, in the direction of his own house. He's so charming and, alright, yeah, you're definitely screwed. You're trying to hold back a grin as you walk into your house.

 

School the next day is even better. Josh Dun talks to you. After being excommunicated by the rest of the school for apparently turning Jenna Black into a lesbian, your usual spot for lunch ended up being in the corner of the gymnasium. You know the teacher. He likes you, and lets you eat in there since you're clean, and since he knows you get teased a bit. (Or you ate behind the auditorium when he isn't there.)

Josh Dun manages to find you, and he asks you if he can sit with you. He's out of breath, and you have to bite your cheek to resist giggling a little bit, in fear of him thinking that you were laughing _at_ him. “Yeah, yeah, feel free, man.”

He starts telling you a grand story, and you're listening, watching, and enjoying it. He looks so vibrant, so happy, and so, _so_ endearing, and you think he's the first guy you've ever had a serious crush on. Alright, alright, you've officially known him for less than a day, but you've been eyeballing him for months. You have a right to say you have a crush.

You notice that he doesn't have a lunch at some point, so you offer part of your own lunch to him. “Do you want this? My parents kind of pack too much. I don't really eat a lot.”

“Are you sure? It's your food.”

“I'm sure. If I eat any more I'm going to throw up.”

He gives you an indecipherable look, before slowly taking your plastic fork away from you and picking at the tupperware dish you'd been eating out of. “What is it?”

“Some sort of casserole, I think. It's leftovers from last night. It's not bad, actually. You should try it.”

He takes a bite, then makes some sort of provocative noise that _kind of_ makes you feel weird. “This is fucking amazing. Who cooks at your house?”

“My mother, mostly. She's really good. Do your parents cook?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. My own mother is an amazing chef, and her food is to die for.” He mutters something about you coming over sometime, and you smile, telling him that you'd like that.

 

Josh Dun's house isn't what you expected. You don't really know what you expected, but you didn't expect him to live in the nice part of your neighborhood, and you didn't expect his house to just be so _nice._ His parents are wonderful, and they're very kind to either of you. He has a few siblings, and they tease both of you, but it's all in good fun, so you don't really mind.

Josh is lucky. His parents know that he's bisexual, as do his siblings, and they don't _care._ You tell them that you're gay, and they're actually over the moon about it, and you're just—you're _shocked._

Josh Dun's bedroom isn't what you expected either. It's average, if anything. His bed is decent, there's a TV in the room, and it's messy in a way that doesn't surprise you because, come on, it's Josh.

 

Usually when you're at friends' houses, you're the first one asleep, because you always end up being the third or fourth wheel, and it's boring to be awake when no one is talking to you. This time, you stay up until four just _talking_ to Josh. He has a lot to say about a lot of things, and you like listening to him blab your ear off about everything he can think of.

You do have a deep and meaningful conversation with him starting around two and ending around the time you pass out. He has this look in his eye when he talks too. They shine and they're filled with so much passion and it's just inspiring and endearing. If you could, you'd stare at him forever. He listens to you when you talk in your quiet, slow, and slightly timid voice, and he doesn't make fun of you or tell you to speak up like people usually do. Josh Dun is nice.

 

Josh asks you to go to homecoming with him, but he knows you're not out, so he improvises. The two of you end up at his house for the evening while his parents and his siblings are gone. He plays some music, and the two of you kind of just have a dance party, and every time a slow song comes on, he slow dances with you, and it makes you giggle and grin like an idiot. You kiss him a few times, and he kisses you a few times too. All in all, it's a pretty sweet night.

 

He seems cold and serious but he's honestly just a huge goofball. He's probably one of the only people you've ever gotten along with perfectly, besides Jenna. Jenna was more or less your best friend rather than your girlfriend, and you have an inkling of suspicion that the two of you were each others' beards. Subconsciously, though. If you were straight, you'd definitely still be with her.

 

Your parents don't like Josh Dun, which you expected. When you introduce him to them in early November, they immediately give him dirty looks, and you get pulled aside by your mother. “I don't want you hanging out with him. He's obviously a bad influence, and I don't want you to end up like him.”

What bothers you the most, though, is that Josh heard her. He heard her, and when you see him, he's wiping at his eyes. He'd been walking downstairs to ask you something/see what you were doing, but apparently he'd stopped when he heard your mother talking to you in one of those _tones._

You end up walking with him back to his own house, and he opens up a little bit once the two of you are sitting in front of each other, Indian style, on his patio. “I don't think of you like she does, by the way.”

He just shakes his head before resting it against one of your shoulders. You wrap an arm around him to rub his back, and your heart stops for a few seconds when he starts to _cry_ _._ He's a weepy person, and he cries a lot, but it kills you every time you see it. You're not one to talk, because you're the same. You cry a lot too. But the fact that it was _your_ parents that made him cry just flat out hurts _your_ feelings, and, obviously, his as well.

“What did I do _wrong?_ Why doesn't anyone _like_ me?”

“Ignore my parents, dude. They don't like anyone I hang out with.”

He pulls away from you now, and wipes at his eyes. “No, it's not just them. It's almost everyone. Everyone just _looks_ at me like I'm some piece of degenerate garbage because of how I look, but if I _didn't_ look like this, then people would _approach_ me and take advantage of me. It's like I can't fucking win.”

“It's how people are, and you know it.”

“I wish they weren't like that. _I'm_ a person, you know?”

“I know.”

“Can we, uh, go to my room and finish this talk or whatever?”

“Of course, dude.”

 

You think he took you to his room so he could pace in peace without his siblings trying to eavesdrop/watch the two of you. (Neither of you said anything, but of course, you both saw them.) You listen to him rant and complain and cry until he runs out of tears before he _finally_ says, “Jesus—the only reason I'm at your school, or a fucking junior again is because I tried to kill myself, you know?” And that's when your heart breaks.

You don't want to be the person who asks it, but you say it before you can stop yourself. “Why?”

“Basically what I've been telling you for the past half hour or so. Got bullied, taken for granted, self esteem plummeted, and I didn't really know what else to do. On top of that, my parents were already pissy with me because they weren't really okay with the idea of me _not_ being straight at the time, and I just—I couldn't _take it._ You probably think I'm pathetic now, don't you?”

You just give him a sad look. “That doesn't make you pathetic. If anything, everyone _else_ is pathetic, but not you. Just come here and hug me before _I_ start crying. Lord knows we don't need _both_ of us crying.”

 

It becomes common for Josh to lay his head in your lap as much as he can so he can rant about the things bothering him, and so you can easily run a hand through his hair, or so he can play with your fingers while he speaks.

It becomes common for you to sit Indian style in front of him with your head on his shoulder, crying out of frustration, and ranting about your own problems while he has his arms wrapped around you, or for him to do the same.

Sometimes the two of you kiss. It quits scaring you and making you feel guilty after a while. If anything, it's just a gesture of intimacy. A form of comfort, maybe. He starts walking you to your classes and walking you home when he can. It's cute, and you definitely don't mind it. He's such a gentleman. And you're pretty sure he's also your best friend. If not your best friend, then you don't know what.

 

People start teasing the two of you, asking if either of you are dating each other, and dropping snide, homophobic remarks. You don't ever have the gall to say anything, but Josh does, and you're thankful. He's braver than you are, and you can respect that.

You try to hang around him when you can, because people don't bother him. He's still scary to other people, and basically, you're safe when you're with him.

You like sitting with him behind the auditorium during lunch. He mostly goes there so he can smoke without getting caught, and you enjoy his company. You also enjoy not being around everyone else, and you enjoy being able to avoid their shitty jokes.

 

There's a group of queer kids who kind of adopt you and Josh at some point. By group, you mean there's three of them, and there's safety in numbers, right? You like all of them though, so it works out.

Ashley is nice. She's the mom friend, and she takes care of everyone. She's the one everyone goes to for advice, including you. She is also a goddess and if you were straight you would probably have the world's biggest crush on her.

Brendon is a bit of an asshole, but he means well. He's one of your typical drama and choir kids, and everyone likes him. Similar to Josh, he's protective, and he will fight to the death for his friends. You respect him a lot. (Your parents like him more than they like Josh, so you bum rides from him when you want to go to Josh's house without raising any suspicion from your parents.)

Dallon sleeps a lot and you don't really get the chance to talk to him very much, but the few times you have, you've noticed that he's very nice, and polite. He's tall, he's intimidating, a little bit of a smart ass, and has a resting bitch face, but of course, he's an absolute sweetheart. (You also have a suspicion that he and Brendon are a thing, but neither of them say anything.)

 

You end up making out with Josh at some house party that Brendon throws. Josh gets a little nervous in crowds, so you'd led him to a place that was private so he could relax a little bit. (With Brendon's permission, of course.) He thanked you, of course. The two of you had just been talking and kind of having a moment when Josh had just asked, “I'm kind of bored. You wanna make out?”

You take a minute or two to reply, because you made out _once_ with Jenna, like, a year ago and neither of you knew what the hell you were doing + both of you were gay as fuckin' hell, so _that_ experience was awkward, and as you say, “Uh, yeah, sure,” you pray that it isn't awkward this time.

It's different than _just_ kissing him. He leads, of course, and you kind of just melt into it. He's a bit of a bold guy, and it doesn't take you long to figure it out, especially when he's laying on top of you, hips pressed against yours, letting out provocative noises once in awhile.

You eventually have your hands up his shirt, getting to confirm that he does, in fact, have his nipples pierced. He lets out another _noise_ when you rub your thumbs across his nipples, then justifies himself by saying, “They're sensitive.”

He holds your hand and very obviously flirts with you when he walks you home that night, and you can't get the butterflies out of your stomach for at least a week.

 

This was a bad idea from the very second it left your mouth.

It's the middle of January, and you're hanging out with Josh for the first time in about a month, when he drops another statement about being bored, so, jokingly, you reply with, “Wanna compare dick sizes?”

What you _weren't_ expecting, though, was for him to say, “Sure,” without a hint of insincerity in his tone. He only gives you a competitive and challenging look in response to your incredulous one, and given your history with being a _basketball star,_ striving to be the very best, you don't back down.

“… Is it too late to mention that I'm not really sure on how we would even go about that?”

“It's not like I've done it before either, dude.” He scoffs and just about shoves you off of his bed.

“Watch it, asshole.” Your insult doesn't have any substance.

“I dunno, do you wanna like…” He does the hand motion for masturbating and you definitely do not go red in the face. (Or as red as you can get. You're a pretty tan guy.) “I mean, it'd be easier and more accurate to compare if we're both hard.”

Masturbating with your best friend isn't as awkward as you thought it'd be. You have to laugh, though, because this is such a thing that straight guys do. Comparing dick sizes, you mean. Or maybe it's a gay thing. Who knows. Like, objectively it's pretty gay, but it's the kind of thing you only hear about straight guys doing.

Before you even get the chance to do anything to yourself, Josh is telling you to hold out your hand, and then you're squeaking when he whips out a bottle of what you're pretty sure is _lube._ “What—why do we need _that_?”

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Do you masturbate?”

“I mean—not really? Sometimes in the shower before school but like—man, look, you know what kind of guy I was raised to be. Christian family and all.” Your voice has gone up a few octaves and he's trying not to giggle.

“Well, as someone who masturbates like a fucking fiend, you're going to want to use a _little_ bit. Going at it dry is probably one of the worst things ever. I don't trust you not to rub yourself raw.”

You _scoff_ at him. “What, are you an expert?”

“Backtracking to the 'masturbates like a fucking fiend' comment. Just give me your hand; oh my god.”

“Why do you even _have_ stuff like that?”

“Had a part time job over the summer. Also, my dad's a lawyer, and I get money out of him sometimes. I have a pretty good collection of condoms too if you ever need any. Like, I got you covered, dude.”

“I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be needing any. I'm about the biggest virgin of them all.”

“Where there's virginity, there's virginity that has to be lost. Never say never, my friend.”

You reach your leg over to kick him in the shin. “Shut up.”

You get a shit-eating grin out of him.

At this point, you have a hand down your pants, trying to mimic Josh, since you _literally_ don't know what you're doing. “Look, _Josh,_ I had one girlfriend, and she ended up being a lesbian. I'm not _cool_ like you are.” You're mocking him a little bit with the last sentence, and he knows it.

The eye roll you get from him is worthy of an academy award.

 

Your eyes are wide the second you get them on his dick. You're pretty sure it isn't _that_ big, but it's _thick,_ and you kind of have an urge to go down on him. Of course, you wouldn't know what to do, but you've seen porn a few times, and it looks like it'd be fun. You yelp a little bit when he sits up and grabs your arm, pulling you onto his lap. “Josh—what the hell are you doing?”

“We're supposed to be comparing dick sizes, not staring at each other like a couple of horny teenagers.”

“I hate to break it to you, but we _are_ a couple of horny teenagers.”

“You know what I mean.” He doesn't look up at you when he takes both of your dicks in his hand, and presses them together. You groan _just_ a bit. Just a bit. A little bit. The tiniest bit. You're not really sure what to do with your hands, but you figure tentatively placing them on his shoulders would have to do for now. “So, let me get this straight—” you snort, “—you _shave?”_

“They snag in my underwear sometimes.” Why are you even trying to defend yourself? You have no idea. He laughs though, and you get a kiss on the lips out of it.

“No judgment here, dude. It's cute.”

“No offense, but you're insufferable. Why do I put up with you?”

“ _I'm_ cute and I am basically your god considering I have _your_ dick in _my_ hand.”

“Can't argue with you there,” you mutter, almost under your breath. And _then_ he starts moving his hand slightly. As usual, you're not sure how to react, so you ask, “What are you _doing_?”

He yanks his hand away and apologizes. “Sorry, uh, I took that a little too far.”

“I didn't say _stop._ I just asked what you were doing.” It's usually not in your nature to be _bold,_ but, look, the situation calls for it. You do move down a bit on his legs, though, to make things a little easier. For once, he's the one sitting there slack-jawed and not really sure what to say, so you, quite literally, take matters into your own hands. (Or hand.)

You've obviously never touched anyone else's dick before, and this is actually kind of weird for you. You're slow, probably painfully so, trying to gauge his reaction, and to see if you're fucking anything up. You're not sure how bad you can fuck up a hand-job, but if there's a way to fuck something up, then you're sure to be the one to do it.

His dick is kind of thick, and it's actually a little shorter than yours, but, like you said, it's thick, and you think that makes up for it. As the hand job you're giving him progresses, he's holding back the quietest and cutest little noises, and he's squirming just a little bit.

Somehow, it ends up turning into a pissing contest over who can get the other off the fastest. Josh wins, of course, but you're not surprised.

 

Josh doesn't show up to school on Monday, and you think it's because he has a doctor's appointment, so, for the first time in about a year and three months, you tug Jenna aside to talk to her, because you're not in the mood for Brendon's shit-eating grin and endless teasing, Dallon's dry, blunt advice, or Ashley's high pitched squealing and excited repeats of her telling you to ask Josh to be your boyfriend. You know they mean well, but you're pretty sure it's not what you need right now.

Jenna's nice, and she's not the kind of person to try pressuring you into doing anything. Or, well, she usually isn't. “Tyler, out with it. I know that look on your face, and you wouldn't be talking to me if it wasn't something.”

“You know I'm gay, right?”

You get a look out of her. “Yes, I know you're gay. You're pretty bad at hiding it.”

“Oh my god. I know _you're_ a lesbian, but can I ask for boy advice?”

“Is it the cool hair guy? Like, the one with the leather and the piercings?”

“ _How_ did you _know?”_

“It's not as if you've been glued to him for the past five months.” She gets a devious little smile on her face and, oh god, you know that smile. “Did he do anything? I'll beat him up if I have to.”

“You weigh, like, two pounds, and he's basically a brick house. Good luck with that. He didn't do anything, by the way. We were hanging out on Saturday because we hadn't had a chance for a month since, you know, holidays are a thing, right? We were both _bored_ and I was kidding, but I asked him if he wanted to compare dick sizes and he said _'sure.'”_

“That… is possibly the gayest thing I've ever heard.”

“Anyways, listen, we ended up getting each other off or whatever and it's like—are we _friends?_ Are we _boyfriends?”_

“Why don't you just ask him?”

You groan and stamp your feet a little bit. “I _would_ but I don't want to ruin anything. We kiss a lot too and hold hands sometimes and, man, I'm so screwed.”

“It sounds like you're already boyfriends, Tyler. You don't hold hands with someone or kiss them if you're just friends. Though, that depends on what kind of kissing it is. What kind of kissing is it? Is it quick kisses, or is it slow ones? Romance is the key here.”

“Like, _kissing._ He's so _good_ at kissing. I would probably kiss him forever if I could. We've even made out a couple of times too, and no offense, but it's like, way different and way better than it was the one time _we_ did.”

“None taken. Okay, no offense to _you,_ but you don't just _make out_ with your friends, and you also don't just _get off_ with your friends. He's your boyfriend. Quit talking to me and _ask_ him.”

“He's not even _here.”_

“Yeah he is, Tyler. He just walked in.” She's gesturing towards the front doors of the school and—oh god—Josh is heading towards you. You can barely even look him in the eye without burning up.

You kind of want to 'aww' at him once he's actually standing next to you, because his nose is red due to the cold, of course, and he's whining a little bit as he takes off his gloves. _What a big baby._ “Hold these for a sec, will ya?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Where's the leather jacket?”

“It's six degrees out there. I can give up the bad boy routine for a day or two. Anyways,” he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a McDonald's bag. “Lunch. You've been at my house all weekend so I know you don't have one. Not the healthiest but it'll do, I guess.” He shrugs before taking his gloves back from you and sticking them in the pocket of his coat.

You look at Jenna, and her eyebrows are so far up her face in a way that makes you want to shrivel up and die from embarrassment. “So, are you the infamous hot punk guy that everyone talks about?” She's sticking a hand out towards him, and you're praying she doesn't say anything embarrassing.

“I'm assuming you're the girl Tyler turned into a lesbian?”

You shove Josh and ignore the giggle he gives you. “You _asshole_. Fuck off.”

“Shit, alright, alright, I give. I just had to find out, my dude. I've got to know what kind of guy I've been hanging around with. For all I know, you could be a convicted felon.”

“How _dare_ you say that. I have _never_ committed a crime in my life.”

“Yeah you have. That shirt with those shoes? A disgrace.”

“It's _your_ shirt, so shut up.”

“ _His_ shirt?” Jenna has her arms crossed now, and you really, _really_ want to tell her to quit being obvious.

“I didn't have time to go home and my other ones were dirty and smelled like armpit.”

Josh looks around for a second before pecking you on the lips. “Lighten up, dude.”

“ _Josh,_ I'm not _out._ Don't do that shit.”

“No one was watching. I'm gonna go put my stuff away, but uh, do you want to eat together in the gym?”

You sigh. “Of course.”

Once he's out of earshot, Jenna's saying, “Oh my _god._ Ask him out, Tyler. He is _not_ going to say no. He bought _lunch_ for you.”

The next thing you know, Ashley has an arm around your shoulder, and she's making sniffing noises, saying, “I smell queer drama. Fill me in.”

And _then_ you watch as Jenna basically melts into the floor. _Someone has a crush. Ha._

 

Once you're actually in the gym, sharing fries and chicken nuggets with Josh, _he's_ on your ass. “You're fidgeting.”

“No I'm not.”

“Bullshit. What's your secret?”

“Nothing?”

“I'll never buy you lunch or take you to school ever again if you don't tell me.”

“You—you really are an asshole. Oh my god.”

“I'm _not_ kidding. Tell me.”

“Jenna was bugging me about a thing. I mean, I'm the one who started the conversation, so I had it coming, but now it's _really_ bugging me _.”_

“Alright? I meant specifics.”

“It's boy trouble.”

“Oh really? You gotta crush on someone?” He looks a little dejected and you really want to groan.

“I wouldn't have been talking to her if I didn't. It's just—there's this _really_ nice guy I've been talking to for a while, and I'm afraid to mess up our friendship by asking him to be my boyfriend.”

“You'll never know if you don't try. I believe in you, dude.” He nudges you in the shoulder, then makes quick work of finishing his portion of the nuggets and fries before pretty much just running away from you, explaining himself by saying, “Gotta go get my homework. Seeya, dude.”

 

He acts weird for the rest of the week, but knocks it off by the weekend when he comes over to _your_ house for the second time. Your parents, unsurprisingly, still don't like him, but your mother doesn't actually say anything to you this time. The two of you end up just staying in your room, watching movies on your laptop, and totally not kind of making out. Nope. Definitely not.

Okay, that last part was a lie. The two of you are, apparently, very bad at coming up with things to do, so making out seemed like the next best choice. You're still pretty bad at it, but you've gotten better, at least in your opinion. You also become pretty good at detaching yourself from him and moving over about a foot whenever you hear one of your parents or siblings walking towards your room. The only con about being the oldest sibling is everyone coming to _your_ room to ask things.

Honestly, it's not hard to decide whose house you like better within the first few hours of being at your house. You can't _touch_ him, basically, without getting a look from your parents. His parents? Yeah, they don't give a shit what the two of you do in front of them as long as it doesn't go past a kiss on the lips, but _your_ parents? The most you've been able to do without getting a look from your parents would have to be the one time you high-fived him earlier after your father promised to order a pizza for the two of you.

You never realized how _affectionate_ the two of you are with each other until being stuck with _your_ family for a few days. You can't pull your usual routine of giving him a surprise peck on the lips to make his face go red for your own amusement, or holding his hand for no apparent reason, let alone hugging him or pretty much just _cuddling_ with him on the couch or whatever.

Of course, those rules get tossed out of the window as soon as the two of you are alone, but it's still frustrating. You're pretty sure your sister knows, but, similar to every other time she's known something, she keeps her mouth shut and doesn't bring it up because she's aware that it's none of her business. You also think one of your brothers _might_ know, but you're not sure. They're both pretty good at pretending to be oblivious, but, come on, siblings know shit about each other that parents don't.

 

On Saturday, during dinner, your father drops a comment about Josh's appearance, and Josh does something that, quite frankly, shocks the hell out of you. He says _something_ in a different language, and from the way his tone sounded, it was _not_ nice. You have to put the back of your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing, and you watch as your siblings either bite their cheeks or their lips to keep from doing the same.

Your father _politely_ asks Josh to repeat himself, _in English._

“I said that the way I look or the clothes I wear are none of your business, along with a few choice words.”

You kick him under the table, and pray that he gets your mental message not to run his mouth in front of your parents.

Surprisingly, your father just says, “I can respect that,” before dropping the subject and letting everyone else continue on with their meals.

 

After dinner, you ask him what language he was speaking, and what the hell he said. “Japanese, and I called your dad a pig fucking heathen who needs to stick his snide remarks up his ass.”

Once you recover from your laughing fit, you ask, “How do you even know Japanese?”

“My dad's like half Japanese, dude. He taught me how to speak it when I was really little, and we used to go to Japan a lot, so I've had time to learn it.”

“That's actually, like, really cool.”

“Bisexual _and_ bilingual. I wonder what else the world has in store for me.”

 

On Sunday, you go with him back to his parents house, mostly so you can have a ride to school on Monday. It's January, and you live in Ohio. You're not walking, and you're not making Josh walk to your house so he can walk with you to school. You'd rather walk with him for a few minutes to his bus stop than walk for maybe twenty to actually get to the school.

Josh honestly has to be the one. He takes the aisle seat instead of the window seat, and he lets you leech his body heat from him. He also lets you borrow his gloves on this particular day as well, and you whisper, “If we weren't on the bus, I'd kiss you on the cheek,” into his ear.

“Your hands looked like they were about to fall off, dude.” Ah, yes, now he's bashful. You do allow yourself to lean on him, though. Leaning on your best friend is totally platonic and totally a normal thing to do.

“Admit it. You're a pushover for me.”

He gets you in the ribs with one of his elbows. “No, I'm not.”

“If you won't admit it, will you at _least_ buy me something from one of the vending machines?”

“Sure.”

“See, there you go. You just proved my point.”

“Shut up, you shithead.”

 

At lunch, you end up sitting outside, despite the freezing cold, complaining to Josh about your trig teacher. After you finish your little rant, you catch him staring at you with one of those _looks_ on his face, so you call him out on it. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

His response of, “You look beautiful,” causes you to groan and hide your face in your hands. He pretty much has to pry them from your face so he can sneak in a quick smooch. “Quit hiding your face. You gotta show that shit off.”

“Shut _up_. I have acne and eye bags. People don't need to see it.”

“You have, like, two pimples, and they aren't even that bad. Also, everyone has eye bags. Have you seen mine?”

“Quit being so sweet. I'm going to vomit.”

“I can't help it,” then he kisses you for, you think, the fourth time that day, and finishes his statement with, “I have a disorder called ridiculously adorable.”

“And I have a disorder called I'm about to hit you because I can't handle it.” You _very gently_ hit him in the chest with your fist, and he just acts as if you stabbed him.

“You just _practically murdered me.”_

“Shut up you big baby.”

He looks dramatically offended and has his hand over the place where your fist lightly tapped his chest and, okay, the two of you are having a moment.

Until it's ruined by someone calling either of you faggots, and then by you pretty much having to hold Josh down with the dead weight of your body lest he throw some punches at a couple of sophomores. Good to know that when _you're_ threatened, he goes straight from his shouty phase of anger, past his silent phase, all the way to his 'I will literally murder somebody' phase of anger. “Dude, they're assholes, but you don't need to get suspended over it.”

He just grumps and plops himself back down next to you, and continues glaring in their direction for another five minutes until the bell rings.

 

When you get to school the next day, Josh is waiting for you by your locker, and he looks nervous as hell. Which isn't something you get from him very often, at least not towards you. You ask him to hold your backpack while you're taking off your very, _very_ heavy jacket, and swapping it for a lighter one. You get cold in class, what can you say? “…What's up?”

“Uh. I was kind of wondering if you wanted to like...”

You nod, and do the hand motion for him to continue.

“Okay, so Valentine's day is in a few weeks, and I was kind of wondering if you wanted to go on a date or something? Feel free to turn me down or whatever.” His face is so _red._

 _He really is oblivious._ “Why would I turn you down?”

“You said you had a crush on someone, so I mean…?”

“It's _you,_ ya dummy. Who the hell else would it be?”

“I don't know, man! Brendon? Dallon? You talk to them sometimes.”

“Yeah, _sometimes._ Anyways, look,” You gesture over towards Dallon's locker, where Brendon's hitting on him. Or so you assume. “I wouldn't stand a chance with either of them. I only go to Brendon's house like, once a month, and even then I'm usually the third wheel because that one soccer guy with the emo hair shows up almost every time I'm over there.”

“Can I kiss you then?”

“There's a lot of people around.”

“Just this once?”

You sigh. “I suppose.”

 

“Hey, uh, I'm going to walk to Josh's house to hang out. We don't have any dates or whatever for Valentine's, so we figured eating pizza and watching TV seemed like a good alternative.” By pizza and TV, you mean that he's dragging you to a movie theater, and the two of you are probably going to make out in the back of the theater instead of actually watching the movie.

Your mother gives you a slightly suspicious look, but you act as if you don't notice it as you walk out of the door and make your way to Josh's house.

 

Josh's house is basically a ghost town the second you walk in. “Okay, there's been a slight change of plans. My parents went out to go have a meal, my sisters are at a friend's house, and Jordan is _supposed_ to be at a friend's house, but I'm pretty sure he has a girlfriend, and basically, we don't have a ride, so we're stuck with the thirty bucks my parents gave me to order a pizza.”

“They know I'm here, right?”

“My dad gave me a box of condoms. They know you're here.”

 

You actually _do_ end up having sex with Josh. He was so gentle and slow and _sweet_ with you.

He kisses you a lot, making sure you're alright with what's happening, and fretting over you. All he wants is for _you_ to feel good, and for you to enjoy it. And you do. You do enjoy it. He'd taken his sweet time with foreplay, kissing all over your body, nipping your neck a little bit, and playing with your _nipples_ even.

He basically worships you that night, and makes you feel like the only person in the world. He spends an eternity working you open with his fingers, giving you a taste of what was about to happen, and you love every minute of it. You eat up every single bit of attention he gives you, and you know he totally eats up every single noise he's able to draw out of you.

You also know that he's beautiful. You _really_ know that he's beautiful, but the look on his face the few times he'd look up at you, or the look on his face when he'd been slowly pushing his dick inside of you just emphasized it all.

It's sweaty, and hot, and literally just fucking amazing. You manage to come _twice_ before he finally does, and you're _so_ exhausted afterward. (You end up having to call your parents to ask if you could stay the night, because, seriously, you're _exhausted,_ and you're not walking all the way back home. You'll go to school the next day, sure, but you're not walking home.)

 

Ashley is up your ass the next day. Josh, conveniently, disappears that day, and Ashley sees a few hickeys, so she drags you to the back of the art building during lunch. “You have hickeys. I wanna know what happened between you and Josh.”

As you lean against the building, you ask, “Why do you assume something happened?”

“Because I know he doesn't give you hickeys usually.”

“We had sex. Is that what you wanted to hear?” You raise your eyebrows at her.

“Yes. Also, congratulations. Is he any good?” She's leaning towards you, a curious expression on her face. She lives for gossip.

“I came twice, so obviously he did _something_ right.”

 _“_ _Twice?_ Isn't that hard for guys to do? Christ.”

“He told me he's the king of excess.” You giggle at the thought.

 

Summer vacation that year is pretty fun. You and Josh both put the money that either of you had saved up over the course of the past year towards a road trip. The trip itself isn't that long, but either of you are gone for a month and a half. (Your parents weren't happy about it, mostly since you literally just up and left. You were kind of tired of dealing with them, so, you know. It's understandable.)

You buy a few disposable cameras, and you use them up pretty quickly. Josh is beautiful, and you take a lot of pictures of him. You can't help yourself. The two of you don't have the money for hotels more than once every four days, but when you can, you get a lot of pictures of him illuminated by the sunrise, and the muscles on his back, or his stomach, literally just—basically, he's gorgeous. The whole world should know by now.

On the nights when either of you aren't in a hotel, though, he lets you sleep in the back seat since it's more comfortable. You try to get him to take the back seat, but he refuses, saying that it's fine if he's in the driver's seat.

Once in a while, if it's not too warm at night, either of you share the back seat. It's a bit of a tight fit, but you manage. No matter what, though, both of you always wake up sweating. Somehow it's romantic. He likes to wake you up by kissing the back of your neck, and whispering silly things into your ears that make you laugh like a seal.

 

You sleep with him a lot over the course of that summer too. Over the past few years, you've been losing your spirituality more and more, but you can honestly say that every encounter with Josh was a religious experience.

You're glad that things never get awkward after the two of you do anything sexual. Honestly, neither of you saw a reason that it had to be. It doesn't feel weird being with him like that, even though the two of you aren't in a relationship. You do like him romantically, and you know the feelings are mutual, but you kind of enjoy just being friends. Of course, the two of you are a little more than friends, but the pressure of a relationship isn't there.

 

The day before you get home, you let Josh give you a few hickeys, and you only realize your mistake when you're about five minutes away from your house. You start freaking out, because your parents will _know._ You've only been around Josh for the past six weeks. There's no way they _couldn't_ know.

He goes inside with you, under the guise of helping you carry your things. You know he's there to protect you if he has to, though. When your parents see the hickeys, you have to explain to them how you'd gotten them, and long story short, that's how you get kicked out. Your father gives you a week to get your things, but after that, you're supposed to be gone.

 

**PART ONE – TYLER – END**

 

**PART TWO – JOSH – START**

 

He cries in your arms that night, and all you can do is hold him, and try to shush him in an attempt to calm him down. He's ugly crying, and you _never_ again want to see him in that kind of pain, and you _never_ want to see the despair and sadness in his eyes again. You make a mental promise to your future children to never make them feel the way Tyler's parents have made him feel. No one deserves that kind of pain.

You don't get it. How can a parent just turn their child away for no good reason? You admit, yours weren't too happy when you came out as bisexual, but they didn't kick you out. Instead, they tried to educate themselves, and they put you before their own prejudices and other bullshit. You wish his parents could have done that first instead of just tossing him out like a piece of garbage. He's the only person who has ever given you the time of day, and he's the only person who hasn't used you or taken advantage of you, so, obviously, you're protective of him. You care for him almost more than you care for yourself.

Not to mention you're basically in love with him. By basically, you mean literally. You're nineteen, and it's possible that you don't know what _love_ feels like, but you're pretty sure this is it. You're pretty sure the butterflies in the stomach, the noticing how fucking beautiful he is all of the time, and just wanting to hold him all the damn time is love, whether it's romantic or not.

 

Over the next three days, you, Tyler, Ashley (your sister, not Frangipane), and Jordan work on getting Tyler's things from his parents' house and moving them to your house. Your parents immediately agreed to let him live there, and of course, you're thankful. You were worried about Tyler; you didn't know if he had any other place to go.

You have to share a room with Tyler, and honestly, it's just like an extended sleepover. You like waking up to see his face, though. You like how he looks when he's asleep, because he doesn't have his subconscious frown, and he looks so peaceful. He still has bags under his eyes, and he still looks dead fucking tired, but the point is he just looks nice.

By the time August rolls around and the two of you start your senior year, either of you have gotten to the point that neither of you really knew whose clothes were whose anymore. Cons of being about the same size and having almost the same fashion sense, you guess. You've toned down on the leather and the black, and Tyler's toned down on the button ups and the slacks, so it was to be expected. Your parents notice it, though, as do your siblings, and you just glare at them when they flip you shit.

Tyler gets increasingly more cute. He develops some affinity for floral patterned things, and you fucking love it. It's adorable. There was one day where he wore a floral jacket, a floral shirt, floral pants, and floral shoes, and although you flipped him shit, you still thought he was the cutest person on the planet, and you even went so far as to tell him so, plus you chewed out everyone who dropped comments or made fun of him.

 

Tyler figures that since his parents know he's gay that it couldn't hurt for him to initiate more PDA with you. You're totally on board with it, of course. The two of you still aren't officially an item, but he holds your hand in the hall while the two of you walk to class, or while you're walking him to one of his classes, and he lets you go in for quick kisses here and there.

The next part pisses you off, but in the classes the two of you have together, your teachers separate you. The two of you, in the past, worked fine, and didn't distract each other, but pretty much the whole school had caught wind of the Joseph-Dun union, and you think it had something to do with homophobia. That definitely doesn't stop the two of you from partnering up on projects or assignments whenever possible, though.

 

You actually take him to all of the school dances this year. Aside from a few assholes, most everyone either doesn't give a shit, or doesn't have the nerve to say anything. He ends up being a little taller than you by the time homecoming comes around, so slow dancing is just the slightest bit awkward, but you try your best.

It's kind of weird for him to be taller than you. You're still used to looking down at him, and leaning down to give him kisses or to hug him, but now you have to almost stand up on the tips of your toes to reach him. He's lankier than ever, and he's lost most of his baby fat at this point, and, okay, he's actually pretty hot and you catch the looks some of the girls and guys throw at him. You're a little smug, because he's yours, and not theirs.

Throughout the queer students at your school, the two of you are a power couple. Neither of you still haven't established that there's an official relationship, but when people ask, or assume, that the two of you are dating, neither of you deny it or correct anyone.

 

The first fight you have with Tyler is dumb and the two of you make up within a few days, and, actually, in hindsight, it's kind of funny. He'd worn something of yours that you kind of wanted to wear the next day, and of course, he'd spilled something on it, so you _couldn't_ wear it, considering laundry day wasn't until the weekend.

You were also in a shitty mood, so your first response was to yell at him, and it had slipped your mind that he really can't handle being yelled at. Immediately, you feel super fucking bad, because he starts tearing up. He snaps back at you too, though, and after a shouting match, you decide to sleep on the couch for a day or two. (As usual, your parents tease the two of you about basically being a married couple, since that's a thing married couples do apparently.)

You apologize to him at school, and give him a Red Bull as a peace offering. He looks up from the lunch table and gives you a fake-stern look then rolls his eyes before pulling you down into a kiss. (A teacher tells the two of you to break it up, and you make a comment about the kiss only being a second or two long.)

 

One night, you estimate it's around one, but Tyler rolls over in the bed, not very subtly, and asks if you're awake. “I am now.”

“Liar. You were awake before. I know how you breathe when you sleep.”

“You're creepy.”

“You're queer.”

“Fair enough. Why'd you ask?” You put one of your hands on his cheek, and rub your thumb over his cheekbone, because, hey, he looks kind of beautiful right now.

He takes hold of your hand with the one hand of his that isn't holding his head up before responding. “Are we boyfriends?”

“In an undefined, unestablished, and unofficial way I would say so; why?”

He shrugs the best he can. “People keep asking, and I never really know what to say.”

You kiss him now, asking, “Do you want to be official boyfriends?”

He nods, then it's his turn to kiss you. “I'd like that.”

So, alright, you have your first _official_ boyfriend now. The two of you are kind of a mess. It takes him getting kicked out, and the two of you acting all couple-y and disgusting for either of you to confirm that, yes, either of you are in a relationship.

 

 


	10. JALLON RISE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JALLON RISE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JALLON RISE

**HEY DON'T FUCKING STEAL THIS IDEA OR COPY IT DIRECTLY OR I WILL DEAD ASS TRACK YOU DOWN AND DRAG YOU THROUGH HELL AND BACK I SPENT FOUR HOURS NON STOP JUST TYPING ALL OF THIS OUT ON MY PHONE INTO DIRECT MESSAGES WITH ONE OF MY FRIENDS AND I WANT TO SHARE IT & ILL END UP MAKING A FIC OUT OF IT PROBABLY BUT BEFORE THEN IT'S JUST AN AU OF JALLON OK. would anyoen even steal an au idea for jallon who knows.**

 

 

 

what if jallon rose tho

like i think how itd happen would be like

they hang out when they can right? like already. so . thats how it goes 4 the longest time after the srar tour bc on srar they became v good friends and after that whenever top/patd is in the same place or whenever they are they hang out because theyre buds

dallon and josh both give me casually bi vibes so pretend its a universe where theyre both eh abt it and its common knowledge that either of them are bi or something

theres probably gonna be one tøp show that dallon goes to like hes standing off to the sides out of view of the audience with all the tech guys watching josh and tyler mostly josh lbr and hes prob like "whoah this is cool i mean weve been friends 4ever but damn i never noticed how talented he is! 0:"

josh is probably like obliviously crushing on dallon even tho hes married even tho he has kids josh just likes him bc ?? hes real handsome and hes really nice and funny and like urie n the rest of patd tease dallon about being a bit of a buzzkill bc hes not #wild or young like they are and josh is like yo shut up hes COOL

anyways show ends josh does the bow with tyler they do their stage gay thing then josh darts off the stage as inconspicuously as possible bc he wants to go talk to his friend he wants to see if his friend is impressed with him or proud of him or both

"how did i do?" josh asks probably all kinda shyly but hes doing a pretty good job at hiding the shyness bc he doesnt want dallon to think hes weird also why would he even be shy with his friend haha lol????

"that was incredible!" dallon probably grins at him and then hes like "if you werent so sweaty i'd hug you haha you did good though. you killed it on lane boy."

"ah jeez you think so??" josh proBABLY FUCKING SMIRKS COCKY LITTLE SHIT but he smirks and he heads towards his dressing room w/dallon following bc theyre probably chatting and tylers probably following too bc u kno hes sharing a dressing room with Josh since hes a clingy shit

tyler probably takes a quick shower then heads to the bus so he can sleep bc shows probably take a lot out of him n dallons probably on his phone on twitter dickin around whenever josh is done w/his quick shower n like. josh has to mentally smack himself bc he catches himself just frickin /staring/ at dallon whos on the couch hair all sorta messy bc hes only seeing josh that day like why would he be dressed all fancy u know stubble a few days old clothes not his best n josh is like oh goddd hes adorable ! but he cant let hmself stare bc its weeeeird

and he thinks dallon catches him looking but rly dallons low key checking him out bc josh doesnt dry off completely so his abs are all glistening and his hair is still wet from his shower and hes probably only wearing leggings or somethin but hes also still glowing from being pumped up ir whatever frm the show and dallon can jst feel the enthusiasm rolling off of josh and he admires it bc hnstly ts been a while since hes felt so hyped and excited for patd n the last time he felt like that w/patd was during vices n before patd it was when he was w/th brobecks so hes like wow im glad josh is so hyped abt their concerts

dallon ends up going home late bc after talking in the dressing room for a while josh probably puts on a sweatshirt or smth and some shoes n grabs his keys n phone n wallet n shit and finds some obscure restaurant where they arent gonna see any fans so they can eat n have a drink in privacy bc theres only junk food and this one weird swedish drink tyler likes on the bus

anyways the restaurant is like rly homey its just nice and the atmosphere is really chill and no one recognizes them at all ? so they can have their dumb lil conversations before they have to part ways again for an undetermined amount of time

tht night tho like

okay usually when they leave each other after hanging out for a day do a quick lil hug but this time its kinda different like dallons about to get into a cab because hes a little tipsy frm the beer at the restaurant n cant drive so anyways

its pretty private aside from the dirty look the cab driver gives them for taking so long thru the rearview mirror

josh is like u know what im gonna push my boundaries and he stands on the tips of his toes so he can wrap his arms around dallons neck and so he can hug him for a lot longer than usual abd MUCH TO HIS SURPRISE dallon returns the hug and josh giggles alittle but from the way dallons stubble tickles his neck and dallon scoffs when josh says smth bc "you have stubble too josh omg"

josh is probably a lil sulky for a few days after seeing dallon bc he misses his buddy more than usual but he gets over it bc hes busy with interviews n photo shoots n concerts

dallon tho panic isnt touring and brendon doesnt need him for interviews mostly so he isnt busy until later in th year when patd tours again so u kno he just goes home to his wife and his kids and like u KNOW he feels a little off that night like it doesnt feel quite right when breezy gives him a hug and a kiss and he doesnt melt into it like he usually does n he just brushes it off thinking its from the alcohol bc lbr he did drink a lil more than necessary but hey he was with his friend and hanging out so who cares right???

NOW LISTEN. TYLER IS IMPORTSNT IN THIS AU. tyler fuckin. ok so josh and dallon probably start texting each other more and like. usually theu only texted each other once a week on average or theyd text congrats if one of their bands accomplished somethjng and stuff or just memes bc theyre memefuckers lbr

tyler notices that josh is glued to his phone more than usual and like hes married he has a wife and hes totally satisfied but he still lives a little through josh since josh sleeps around a bit bc hey they travel it gets lonely on th road n tylers off limits now since he met jenna

anyways tyler probably confronts josh and hes like "dude why are you on your phone so much nowadays"

"oh just talking to a friend"

and tyler tries peeking and josh like he probably has some weird name for dallon in his phone (as w/everyone else usually) its probably like "D [palm tree emoji]" cuz hes tall and not actually that skinny but tall n skinny like a palm tree but tyler innocent lil thing is like "ooo u talking to debby again ;P" bc Debby is the only one with a D name beisdes dallon that josh talks to regularly and debby is single or so they all think no one knows basically it isnt a stretch for tyler to think josh n deby are back together again

"huh? oh, no, haha. i havent talked to her in a few months. last time was when blurryface went platinum. m'talking to dallon right now."

"is HE why yr always on your phone???????" tylers prob lookin at him with dumb wide eyes "i thought th two of you didnt talk much"

"we DIDNT but panics not touring so hes available more often thn not so we talk...??? its not a big deal"

and tyler hoo boy he FUCKING SQUINTS josh rarely gets defensive over ANYTHING but hes defensive over how much he talks to dallon and tyler is just. dude. dont.

tøp probably performs at a festival in front of a huge crowd or on tv so josh invites dallon & his family to watch th show from back stage bc breezy likes tøp and dallons kids like josh n tyler because theyre real nice and they probably spoil dallons kids rotten w/lil gifts just to let on dallon/breezys nerves a bit bt anyways thats backstory. theyre all there fr moral support AND JOSH TOTALLY FUCKING CATCHES HIMSELF LOOKING AT DALLON A LOT FOR REASSURANCE AND WHENEVER HE DOES DALLON NODS AND PUTS A THUMB UP

the festival probably ends up being one of the bad ones where the crowd is really disrespectful and dallon (plus everyone honestly) bite at their nails because josh n tyler are having trouble with the crowd holding them up during rjde/trees/hoty

n it ends up being one of the times tyler and josh are both pissed off after the show and they arent all happy or excited theyre just upset bc it wasnt the BEST they could do bc the crowd just being shits

n like after josh n tyler shower they all hang out w/dallon + his family + jenna bc jennas probably there too bc tyler likes having her there to support him when they do big shows like this

josh and dallon sneak off to hang out on their own for a while bc its nice to talk one on one whn they can like they dont go far they probably just step outside n its a lil cold but they dont rly care its quiet

i feel like dallon smokes cigarettes like not all the time but he usually has a pack on him even tho he doesnt smoke one more than once a month or so

n Josh smokes even less often usually only if hes stressed n wants to calm down so he bums a smoke offa dallon and they stand next to the door smoking n talking and like

josh lets himself look at dallon longer thn he did last time cuz its dark the only light on dallons face is a street lamp on the other side of the fucking parking lot and then some fluorescent white light thats abt ten feet away but the light looks real nice on dallons face and joshs heart beats a lil quicker bc his friend is really pretty and also married and yikes josh shouldnt be thinking like that but he cant help it

dallon feels bad for josh because like hes all tense and still upset from the show and hes shaking a little and his breathing is weird dallon doesnt know why he notices but he does and he just feels terrible for his friend and he side hugs Josh but doesnt move so they stand there dallon with an arm around joshs shoulder josh with one around dallons waist until their cigarettes are gone and they HAVE to like let go bc its getting late and dallon has to get back to the hotel room and help get his kids put to bed n josh probably just beeds to sleep it off in general

BEFORE DALLON LEAVES THOUGH BEFORE THAN JOSH GIVES HIM ANOTHER TOO LONG HUG AND OFC DALLON RETURNS and like breezy probably sees and shes kinda like "oh. thats it. thats why dallons been weird." like she knows dallon isnt having an affair but shes been w/him for over ten years she knows how he acts she knows what hes like when he has crush and she can tell he has a crush on josh bt this is different like its ACTUALLY affecting their relationship (imo i dont think they have a super vanilla relationship so idk to me it doesnt seem like too much of a stretch to think its an open relationship bc like dallon travels a lot shes not w/him a lot n also its kinda fun 2 sleep around like they dont do it much snymore bc kids and priorities but still u kno? they r always up front with one night stands and are always on th same level bc they just work good like that but dallons pulling away dallon distancing himself she can tell and it hurts bt she isnt gonna like. trap him. u kno. SHE DOESNT SAY ANYTHING THO SHE DOESNT SAY ANYTHING but yeah it makes sense now how dallons been acting)

after kids are asleep dallon n breezy sit up for a while talking and discussing the behavior at tøps show n just chatting n enjoying each others company and theres prob a balcony in their hotel room so they sit out on it th children cant hear and like

breezy brings up josh "so. josh. [eyes emoji]" bc like?? maybe dallon needs a little shove if he wants to sleep with josh like shes his best friend she is gonna support him

"what about him?" dallon knows her tone knows what shes getting at even if she isnt saying exactly what she means but yeah she brings him uppp

"i saw the way you hugged him. are you gonna...?"

he frowns and shakes his head abd makes a face suddenly way defensive. "um. no. hes my friend."

"well yeah its always fun with friends remember when u n brendon......???? [eyes emoji]"

"it was different w/him. i wasnt as good of friends w/him as i am with josh."

she clicks her tongue but drops it tho and dallon sighs mentally bc ofc she knows shed be dumb not to but dallon doesnt want to sleep with josh like its not that theyre just ~~~friends~~~

on the joshler side of things tyler goes to joshs hotel room after jennas asleep bc he cant sleep bc hes mad but he also wants to talk to josh bc he saw how he hugged dallon and like HE KNOWS JOSH LIKE THE BACK OF HIS HAND so anyways ofc josh isnt asleep hes probably on twitter stalking his mentions mentally dragging @rcgional through the mud when tyler knocks on the door n they have a specific way that they knock so josh gets up knowing its tyler and tyler like

whn dallon comes up tyler just. "josh u like him dont you"

"who? dallon? HAHAHHAHAHAHA no lol hes just my friend"

"you hugged him for a solid minute and a half, josh."

"so? i missed him. hes my friend and we dont see each other than often and im upset tonight anyways im entitled to hug my friend."

"yeah but i know hes not your best friend because thats me but youve also been talking to him almost non stop and--see! he just sent you a text message! you were like this with debby when you first met her and watch soon its gonna turn into phone calls and more texts and seeing each other EVERY chance you get not just when its convenient for you or him"

dallons still in denial of a crush after his lil chat w breezy but joshs chat with tyler is his moment of realization because of course of fucking course tyler is always right about this stuff

patd starts touring again shortly after the festival debacle w/top and crushes and like

usually in aus id have brallon be buddy buddy but irl i think brendon is kinda like. not that social w/dallon ig like theyre friends but if given the choice dallon probably isnt the one brendon goes to first if he wants to hang out with someone

dallon n kenny tho u kno theyre buds like dallon literally sent kenny his own 20 page fanfiction for the fuck of it so whn touring dallon hangs arnd with kenny

kenny my love my life my father my son kenny KNOWS somethings up the second hes crammed onto a bus with dallon and like theyre there for the next like 8 months excluding breaks so kenny wants to get to the bottom of it bc if hes gonna be in close quarters with dallon while smth is going on with his tall friend then he needs to know what it is in case it causes problems

so like kenny just confronts him in his dressing room on th first night of the tour like "hey dal youre acting weird n u dont have to tell me but...??? i just worry is something going on at home or something......??????"

"uh. no."

" "

"okay breezy thinks i have a /crush/ on someone and we arent exactly monogamous but she thinks its serious and not just another brendon circa 2011 situation"

n kenny is like "oh shit who is it" and dallon is totally fuckin vague of course like "oh theyre just a friend weve just been talking more than usual lately its nothing"

and kenny doesnt believe him but he shrugs it off bc dallons and adult he can make his own choices even if theyre dumb

thats when dallon is like "oh no" bc ok he does have a crush on josh its obvious to him now but he cant do anything about it bc aside from being married w/kids hes technically a celebrity and josh is more famous than he is by now so? that just CANT go anywhere can it???

and this is prob around the time more jebby pictures pop up like they arent being couply but they were jst hanging out bc like jallon theyre friends and josh doesnt always hang out with tyler n a fan saw them and was like ONGZ LOLZ JEBBY!!! and snapped a few pics

but dallon just assumes theyre together again even tho j hasnt said anything its just hes seen the pictures and he knows their history and hes ok with it even if hes a little butthurt

okay this is probably going to sound like cosmetic because like. in the very beginning of cosmetic i justu sed like my general headcanon for how dallon would go about getting with brendon/anyone else while married so thats kinda how this is gonna go its unoriginal but yeah

so fast forward like maybe six months idk top/patd or josh/dallon finally manage to be in the same general area at the same time and josh and dallon make sure theyre in a private place this time and neither of them really know why theyre being secretive like they arent together they dont have a reason to be secretive

fr josh though its bc tyler would probably be watching him with dallon and dallon knows urie/kenny/dan/zack would be up his ass bc they would immediately be able to tell something was going on with josh jsut from how dallon acts around him vs breezy vs anyone else hnstly??

anyways tho theyre in a big city in another country probably in europe so they arent gonna be recognized super easily if at all whn theyre hanging out so yh they probably pick a random bar to go to and dont realize what theyre doing until they notice. there are only dudes here. they accidentally went to a fuckign gay bar.

it was a pretty nondescript building though like just a plain brick building with a typical sign so yeah anyways theyre both tired bc its always more stressful touring in europe than it is in america or canada so they dont bother finding somewhere else also what! are! the! odds! theyd be recognized in a gay bar you know? like what are the odds

its probably a little loud theyre both a little drunk theres a lot of music loud music a lot of people too and listen somehow they end up dancing bc dallon hasnt had the chance to party in god knows how many years and josh just doesnt get the chance in general anymore because of the sudden fame and the surprising amount of people who recognize him so yh he cant get away with doing that anymore but u kno they have fun they dance theyre drunk emphasis on drunk and dumb and far away from home or friends or people who can influence them like theyre in their own little world and dallon probably makes the first move

bc its a thing usually he only sleeps with other people once like brendon was the exception but he's also in close proximity of brendon for at least like 40% of the year so that one was unavoidable but yeah anyways he figures now is a good a time as any to kiss josh bc he was looking really nice and dallon couldnt really help himself and josh wanted to protest wanted to pus hdallon away bc dallons married and shouldnt be kissing him but josh is a selfish guy and he lets dallon kiss him he lets himself kiss dallon he lets their hands wander and shit and they probably dont sleep together that night but they do make out in the middle of a dance club

remember how i said 'what are the odds' of them getting recognized in a gay club in the middle of stockholm? yeah, well, although low, there were still odds, and it probably happens, right?

dallon and josh probably dont go on twitter very much when not in the us but like breezy probably texts dallon like "hey look at twitter" and he figures she posted something funny or cute or having to do w/their kids but she doesnt have any new tweets so he looks at his mentions and theyre filled with so many different pictures of two people kissing like kinda grossly in a club and it doesnt click who it is at first with dallon but he realizes that its him and josh and hes so fucking scared

josh was wearing a t-shirt in the club though so even though no one could see his face or his hair (snapbacks u know) they all saw his sleeve/mom tattoo so of course of course of course they all know dallon fuckign weekes was making out with josh dun, drummer of twenty one pilots, in the middle of a gay club in stockholm.

josh just looks at his mentions on his own though without prompting from anyoen else bc he does check he just doesnt use twitter much u get me? anyways he doesnt see any of the pictures right away he just sees people's comments on them? like "um??? who is that guy??" if someone for whatever reason doesnt know who dallon is or "WAS THAT REAL SDLHJBLKDJF???" or something homophobic and josh is confused until he sees a picture and sees his sleeve and dallons dumb hand on his shoulder and the poor lighting of the bar/club/whatever

anyways josh and tyler end up having to go back to america asap after theyre done in europe because like? they gotta talk to their manager(s?)/record label/publicist/pr people/etcetc about the thing n same w/with dallon/urie/kenny/dan n then j n dal gotta talk 2 people together bc being famous sucks honestly bc if they werent famous theyd probably just get together and work soemthing out but OF COURSE LIFE ISNT EASY

and if its in a universe where trump is president their management (general term for all that shit i listed) is going to want to cover this up but this is probably the one time josh is like "you know what? no. im bi. ok. im not hiding this just because we have a shitty president." n dallon is kind of the same so it becomes a protest thing and theres probably a series of celebrities in that universe who come out as a way to protest and josh/dallon end up being two of them? but like they arent together or anything there was just the one time they made out in stockholm

probably in the middle of 2017 when tøp and patd are both done touring for a while josh invites dallon over bc they both live in LA and they had a talk theyre just friends nothing romantic going on so yeah anyways dallon goes over to have a few beers n josh has a few glasses of scotch whine he and dallon talk abd play video games and whatever else

dallon probably talks to josh about his music bc he probably has some solo project in the works so he shares a few things with josh and josh is all supportive and really excited because he LOVES dallons music he genuinely does and he loves when dallon shares ideas and demos with him and theres like

one song. theres probably some specific lyrics and tell josh that its about him and the song is probably rly like. raw n emotional and therea probably only a few instruments because its just a demo but its kinda talking abt how dallon likes josh n how dallon wants to be with him but how he feels like he cant n how he feels like j doesnt reciprocate and josh like

he thinks to himself, "this is dumb," before he kisses dallon and it isnt some messy sloppy hungry kiss like in stockholm no this one is different. its different. its slower. not sweet necessarily but josh is kinda trying to say "hey ya big dumb i like you too" even though he doesnt have the words hes just trying to do it with a kiss and dallon is a little shocked at first and doesnt move to return it

but he does eventually he puts his hands on joshs cheeks pulls him n his lips as close as possible and josh feels guilty dallon feels guilty but they kiss each other all emotional and wonder why and how theyre in their current situatiom why are they kissing esch other what happened to just being friends yknow??

dallon probably starts tearing up at some point because whether or not he wants to admit it hes been wanting this for a long time hes been wanting to kiss josh to just kiss him for a long time probably since they first met even and now its happening and it feels so /good/ not in a sexual way or anything but it just feels right but he knows it wont last because at the end of the day he still has to go home he still has to care and provide for his family has to face the music but for right now hes just going to let himself have this

josh feels all warm and fuzzy inside (said jokingly) like his heart is beating hard enough that he can FEEL it in his chest and he can feel dallons tears hitting his own cheeks bc dallons half a foot taller than josh so he has to lean and josh kinda figures how dallon is feeling so he just doesnt question it but he does pull away from the kiss and hugs dallon as tight as he can wHICH IS PRETTY TIGHT HAVE U SEEN HIS MUSCLES LMAO

they sit there on joshs couch though they sit on it holding onto each other barely breathimg scared of making too much noise scared THAT making too much noise is going to burst their bubble and pull them out of their own little world of obliviousness

breezy figures out at some point that dallon had gone to joshs that day even tho he hadnt told her she just. knew. and dallon comes home he looks guilty and acts it too and she doesnt question him bc she isnt ready to deal with it shes not ready to face the reality that hes kinda falling in love with someone else

dallon probably takes his wedding band off that night too not in front of breezy or anything but probably while he's brushing his teeth. he just looks at his reflection and sees the ring and just gets this pang kf guilt so he takes it off bc he doesnt want the reminder

few weeks pass of course and dallon goes to hang out with josh again and its like the last time but without the kissing or the song sharing just them hanging out dallon watching josh play some Bethesda game on the ps4 while they bullshit n drink a lil bit nd ok

they probably end up kissing again and this time they let it escalate only coming back to reality once theyre laying on their backs flushed and sweaty staring at the ceiling of joshs bedroom wondering why. just why.

n josh is surprised at this at least but it wasnt just a quick fuck they didnt just fuck for a quick ten minutes like no it was slow there was tons of foreplay and teasing and small smiles shared and fond looks and lots of shy kissing pretending nothing could get to them

but when theyre laying there just drenched in sweat josh with his own load drying on his stomach and the gross kinda sticky feeling of lube between his thighs hes just. thinking. whst the fuck just happened and why did he let it happen because you know thst boy had been telling himself that he wasnt going to get involved with dallon like that but here they are just after having had sex and josh is pretty sure he loves him and he feels terrible but satisfied in a way

and dallon isnt sure what to think he feels guilty of cooourse but he doesnt think too much, he just says, "we're stupid. really stupid."

and josh like. "do you regret it?"

"honestly?" dallon probably has some kinda sad/pained look on his pretty face and yeah ok josh is feeling the guilt now and hes trying to steel himself up for when dallon says yes but -- "no. i dont."

dallon explains that yeah in a way he does because of obvious reasons but that deep down in his gut he really doesnt and josh is pretty sure that hes a little too excited over the fact that he just had sex with his (second) best friend who is literally married and has kids

they probably go on like that for a few months like not always at joshs house bc sometimes he has to travel n so does dallon but they do the do and dig themselves into a hole and tyler

boi

listen. tyler ends up staying with josh while hes in la bc they probably are working on recording an album so tyler is like why waste money in renting a condo when i have my best buddy haha and josh forgets to tell dallon that he cant come over without warning bc tylers there so when he does show up tyler probably answers and BOI. u know he gives josh one of the most poisonous are you fucking kidding me kind of looks like if dallon wasnt married tyler would be all for it and over the moon for josh but??? u know.

and josh is like "we're just friends dude" and tyler KNOWS josh is lying and he knows dallon is lying just from his body language when he backs josh up and dallon doesnt end up even hanging out like he probably just leaves and goes somewhere to get something to eat and to kill time before he goes home

n like. the months following THAT breezy probably sits down with him like "i kno ur in lov w/j........" n dallon doesnt even try lying like hes caught and he knows thst shes noticed that he quit wearing his wedding band and and she hnstly quit wearing hers too and its sad n dallon didnt expect hed be so sad having that talk u know bc its a big part of his life that hes about to be saying goodbye too

and its even worse explaining to their kids like of course he n breezy are gonna be friends goodgoodgood friends real good friends but its still a really difficult thing and he just hopes his kids dont blame themselves for whats happening with their parents

n yeah they get a divorce like regular adults n handle it real maturely and like end up selling their house bc they dont need jt anymore since they wont live together

and throughout that josh just kinda. its real surreal to him bc he didnt think any of that would ever happen he didnt think dallon would choose him of all fucking people je really didnt he figured theyd just quit talking or drift or something and that dallon would go back to living his normal life that he had before josh came into the picture

someone probably tips off tabloids or whatever about the weekes divorce and josh probably has paps up his ass esp with living where he does and u kno he and dallon are gonna be spotted together a LOT more than before and like tøp is probably gonna be SUPER famoud more than they are now at tht point in time


	11. MORE JALLON RISE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more dms from a convo w/a bud of mine

anyways listen jallon au where dallon is a florist and josh owns the bakery across the street

can be adapted to fit joshler or brallon or literally any other pairing but like. im feelin jallon fake as hell im not even sure if i ship it but. florist dallon n baker josh

theyre probably just BUDS like gay for each other BUDS

dallon brings josh flowers sometimes just one sometimes whole bouquets sometimes he decorates his whole shop forh im with just flowers and josh brings dallon treats like muffins cupcakes cookies bread if hes feelin it

like josh will peek through the window and see that dallons on his break or something cuz the closed sign is up but dallons there on his phone and he is like u know what he looks hungry im bringing him food so he'll close up his own shop for a bit so he can walk over with a small tupperware dish filled with really big muffins like the ones u see at costco but better because you KNOW josh is gonna be fucking spectacular at baking muffins

and dallon is really touched and flattered bc he was hungry but he forgot to grab his lunch and the cute baker boy from across the street brought him muffin josh probably walks in all up with an apron flour on one of his cheeks apron messy maybe even flower in his hair who knows but dallons like. damn. cutie.

so u know what dallon does he excuses himself and runs around his shop for a few minutes picking flowers from vases and josh is like "what" and he is like "sh" before he graps some very nice and pretty paper to wrap the bouquet in and a very nice ribbon and he hands the bouquet to josh then hands him a little pamphlet that he keeps for customers who want to know what flowers mean

and basically the bouquet says "you are cute, thank you" and josh just about WEEPS because its the cutest thing anyone has ever done for him and he is SMITTEN with the tall skinny florist and vows to bring him treats whenever he can and dallon just. yes.

ok so maybe josh is having a bad day or something and like dallon probably doesnt know but he tosses together a tiny lil like 5 flower bouquet just to flirt with josh and its like. white roses (purity), pink carnations (gratitude), yellow chrysanthemums (th website im on says secret admirer and its fucking adorable), white gardenias (joy), then some fucking sunflowers bc they mean adoration

so dallon walks into the bakery with the bouquet and hes all awkward like "um here idk why i did this hahhhhaahaahaha,,," and josh's bad mood goes away almost immediately like he still fels a little shit but the cute florist brought him a bouquet for no reason so josh is like "oh wow"

and the flowers are so weird and random to josh at least so he pulls out the little pamphlet like you know he still has that shit crumpled up in his wallet and he reads it because the bouquet is weird enough that it has to mean something and when he finds out what they all mean he literally starts tearing up and hes like "okay man you gotta calm down with the flowers this is really... really sweet. fuck."

so josh like disappears for a minute to go get a vase bc who knows why he has vases in the bakery ill come up with a reason later anyways he finds a vase and puts the flowers in that vase and sets it on the counter and disappears agAIN and brings back a small little box of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies saying "idk if u like these but uh... here. thank u for the flowers. s'on the house."

and dALLON boi u kno he has to take a minute to put a hand over his heart because josh is all blushy and cute with his frickin cookies and dallons like "thank you so much 4 the cookies yknow i swear ur just tryna fatten me up lmao"

"listen. u flirt with flowers i flirt with baked goods. take the cookies. dick."

a couple comes into dallons lil shop like "hey dude we need flowers for our wedding i kno itsl ast minute but we'll pay real good" and dallons like ok sure and sits down and plans w/them you know

and they ask "hey do you know anyone who'd be willing to cater" and u KNOW dallon is like "bITHC" and he just "uh yeah actually you see that shop across the street? the guy in it is real nice i dont know if he caters but he's real talented so you should talk to him"

so dallon does flroal arrangements for the same wedding and josh caters and ldkjnhbgf dallon probably gets invited just bc he did real good w/the flowers and josh is there bc... hes catering and listen its a weird wedding their catering is dessert but like idk the couple is probably like some gay couple or some really quirky straight couple so U KNOW

anyways josh gets a minute where he's free so he goes up 2 dallon with a TINY CUPCAKE THE TINIEST BUT ITS THE GAYEST like the cupcakes 4 the wedding were probably themed with the stick figures holding hands w/lil hearts so josh probably fuckign. that bitch ass i hate him but he probably goes up to dallon all smug with one of those tiny lil gay cupcakes "here. u look hungry. :)"

and dallon blushes and gives josh the tiniest lil hug as he takes the cupcake and he probably takes his time eating it too like peels the paper off real slowly and swipes the frosting off with his finger before eating the bread part and josh has to take a minute bc he is CUTE taking his time iwth the cupcake being so careful and !!!!

what if josh fucking

okay so baker josh is probably young like maybe 23-25 so he hasnt dyed his hair yet and has no tattoos.either but like. he finally gets the tree part of his sleeve done right?? like that one part. just that one part. and even though its really simple and tame dallons twink ass is like "THATS SO BAD ASS"

and he literally probably just dead ass leaves in the middle of their conversation to go get every single fucking hibiscus in his shop he can find and makes it into the best bouquet he can and he brings them to josh like "here. i dont have any pansies but take these they are for you" and u knO josh immediately has that shit set out in a vase on the counter before dallon can even FINISH his sentence

"so. delicate beauty. wyd dallon." josh asks him this probably as he looks at one of the shelves in the shop before grabbing a box of red velvet cookies bc its a thing dallon gives him flowers josh gives him cookies or cupcakes or muffins

"pansies mean loving thoughts and its not accurate either b--" and dallon SHUTS UP SO FAST BECAUSE HE REALIZES HES BEING REALLY GAY AND DOESNT WANNA SCARE JOSH OFF AND JOSH IS THE PHYSICAL EMBODIMENT OF THE EYES EMOJI MIXED WITH THE EGGPLANT

dallon is so cute though he probably has the meanings of hundreds of flowers memorized and imgine if he went on a date with josh like its probably not established but josh will probably poitn at eVERY FUCKING FLOWER HE SEES like "dallon what does this one mean????"

"those are lilacs and they symbolize like... first love. [red face]" aND JOSH PROBABLY GETS ALL RED AND FLUSTERED TOO LIKE "OH. UM. OK. ANYWAYS." and listen like it literally wasnt meant to be a date but they got coffee on their day off which was a sunday and walked around downtown wherever the hell they live josh pointing at all the flowers and dallon just reciting what they mean or what they symbolize and josh liek

JOSH PROBABLY QUIZZES HIM A FEW TIMES TOO WITH THE PAMPHLET AND DALLON IS LIKE "bitch. ive been obsessed with flowers my whole life u arent gonna stump me. also i MADE that pamphlet. fucking come at me skrublord im ripped."

listen tho they probably pass by another bakery and they decide to try the cookies there and theres probably one thats like "SECRET RECIPE!!!!" and josh takes one btie and knows exactly whats in it, exactly what its made of, and hes like "im gonna make this tomorrow, but better, and im gonna sell it. u should come over on ur break and try them."

and man its so gay and dallon probably jsut dies on the inside because josh is so knowledgeable about cookies n shit that he could TASTE IT and know exactly what was in it and dallon jsut. is gay.

jallon .

listen still with the florist dallon baker josh

dallon finally managing to ask josh OUT!!! is literally the corniest he probably grows sweatpeas for mONTHS just to do this bc they mean shyness then like he always has tulips everyone always orders fucking tulips and roses so he throws together a very neat bouquet of sweatpeas and red tulips bc red tulips mean like. declaration of love.

and dallon is about to walk into th bakery with the bouquet but u know what josh's bitchass did he probably got more of his sleeve worked on AND dyed his hair blue and dallon is like OKAY I NEED MORE FLOWERS THESE TWO ARE NOT ENOUGH and he literally darts back across the street and u KNOW josh sees his ass

so while he's scrambling around looking for daffodils and forget me nots and hyacinths josh walks in like "dude i saw u run waht are u doing" and BOI dallon is liek "no u have to leave"

"dude... why. did i do something...?"

"YES YOU DID NOW GO" like dallon is LITERALLY panicking he has to make this perfect and josh is like actually kinda upset but dallon doesnt pick up on it until he walks back over to the bakery like half an hour later josh is fidgeting and lookin a lil upset bc hes afraid dallon hates him or something and he sees the weird little mashup of a bouquet dallon has and he probably thinks its a 'fuck you' bouquet bc yikes dallon probably doesnt like him anymore but when he looks at the pamphlet hes liek 'OH FUCK THIS IS HIS WAY IF BEING LIKE HEY JOSH I LIKE YOU'

"ok before i address what the pamphlet says they mean i gotta ask. what did i do."

"you?? are just very beautiful??" like probably not that exactly but dallon probably just looks at him all exasperated like "you look very nice today i was not going to ask u on a date/to possibly be my boyfriend or something with only TWO flowers i had to bump it up to at least five"

and josh his fucking gay ass SWOONS and u know tyler is probably lurking around in there too bc hes bored n doesnt have work so hes pestering josh at his own job and u kno josh made him put on an apron and help out so like tylers there and he probABLY FUCKING WHISTLES "get it in joshua!!!"


	12. Chapter 12

_**the first 2 or 3 parts im keeping but the rest im scrapping but im leaving those 2 or 3 in so u all have context lol also the song titles are songs i was listening to while writing whichever part!** _

 

**JUST ANOTHER GIRL**

It’s cold. That’s not really a surprise for northern Montana in the dead of winter, though. It’s in the negatives as far as degrees go, but you’re still standing on an abandoned bridge, fingers of one hand threaded through a chain link fence, other hand holding a lighter that you keep flicking on and off out of reflex. You’re wasting the gas in it, but the flame looks pretty, especially since it’s dark and foggy right now.

You could put the lighter to use, you could light a cigarette, or the joint tucked into your sock that you were going to smoke in the first place, but you’re a weird guy. You just like how the fucking flame of the shitty pink Bic lighter looks.

You hate that lighter. It’s not yours, honestly. It belonged to your ex girlfriend.

She broke your heart, of course. Something changed over the course of the last few weeks of the relationship, and she just dumped you for someone else. If she was anyone else, it wouldn’t have bugged you, but you were with her for two years and had plans to marry her after high school.

You sigh as you run your hand over the flame, since it wont hurt you. It just feels warm. Although, it is a flame, so it’s just warm in the first place. This night is a weird night, maybe a bad one; you aren’t sure.

You have nights where you quit taking your meds, nights where you’re restless and pacing, nights where you have to throw on something warm but still fashionable as you walk from your house to this bridge.

It’s such an odd bridge. No one uses it, and no one bothers to come here, and you like it. You like that you feel alone here. Sometimes you pretend that you’re in the apocalypse, that you’re the last person left on earth. It feels comforting for some reason. You can detach yourself from the stress of your life and pretend like nothing gets to you. It’s a nice escape.

You start walking home again when your surroundings start turning pink from the sunrise. Your head feels fuzzy and nothing feels quite real to you as you intentionally scuff your feet against the ground below them. Maybe it has to do with the fact that you’re manic and haven’t slept in three days, and maybe it has to do with the fact that you keep seeing little blips at the edge of your peripheral vision, but who knows. It’s up for interpretation.

You yawn quietly, and wipe at one of your eyes, surprised that your hand has a few tears on it. Huh. You don’t remember crying, which is odd. Maybe you’re more fucked up over _her_ right now than you thought.

God, you hate her.

Alright, that’s a lie.

You don’t hate her, but you hate that she got under your skin. You hate that she’s the one who made you trust her and who probably ruined love for you in general. You’ve tried dating a few other girls since her, but you just haven’t been able to trust anyone. She left you a ruined mess of a man.

It doesn’t take you more than half an hour to be back outside of your bedroom window, climbing in, then giving your brother a five dollar bill to keep his trap shut about you sneaking out after he _catches_ you climbing back in.

You place your pack of cigarettes, your lighter, and the almost forgotten about joint from your sock behind your underwear drawer.

**LIVING DEAD**

“You need to get over Jenna, dude,” One of your friends starts the second he sees you walking into his house. His parents aren’t home, and they really never are, so that’s honestly why you go to his house whenever things get to be too much at your own house.

“Water is wet, Urie,” Is all you grumble as you walk to his kitchen to look through his fridge and his cabinets since you haven’t eaten in two days. Your parents forgot to get groceries, so you spend whatever money you had on _some_ groceries for your baby brother so he could have something to eat, even though it meant you had to go without. You love your family. Except your parents.

“I can make you food, Ty. You can just go sit if you want to,” He’s saying as he follows you into the kitchen, hot on your tail. You close your eyes and roll them under your eyelids before coming up with a response to him.

“I can cook for myself,” You say as you pull a box of Pasta Roni from a cabinet. You get a block of butter and a jug of milk from the fridge before setting a pan out on the stove so you can get to cooking, not leaving any room for argument.

Brendon’s nice, but he’s overbearing, and sometimes you wish he wasn’t your best friend, because he’s such a mother hen, which totally cramps your style since you’re the independent artsy type.

He starts talking to you again when you sit on the couch while the pasta cooks. (You’d watch the pasta, but you’ve made that specific kind so many times that you honestly don’t need to. You’ll check on it when the timer goes off.)

“Would you listen to me if I suggested a way to get over her?” He asks as he sits on the other end of his couch, legs drawn to his chest as he looks at you curiously, receptive brown eyes wide and expectant.

“You’d just tell me anyways. I’m listening, though.” You cast him a glance before focusing your eyes on the cuckoo clock that’s on the wall directly across from your usual spot on the couch.

“Okay, I think you should try something… _new.”_ His voice sounds more hesitant now, and you figure you aren’t going to like whatever he’s about to suggest. “I know a guy—”

“I don’t want drugs, Brendon.”

“Shut up. You said you’d listen. Anyways, I _know a guy_ that I want to introduce you to.”

“I don’t need anymore friends, Urie.”

“Quit calling me that, and I know you don’t, but _maybe_ you should try something _new_ like I said.”

After that, it clicks in your brain what he’s suggesting, and you scoff. “I’m not gay.”

“Never said you were. Experimenting is never bad, though. Would you be willing to at least meet him before shooting the idea down?”

“Already lost the love of my life, so I guess there’s nothing else to lose.”

He throws a balled up pillowcase at you from a laundry basket, and tells you to quit being self deprecating.

**OBSESSIONS**

The guy Brendon introduces you to is… something. At first when you meet him you think he’s stoned, because his eyes are red and a little puffy, but he doesn’t smell like weed, and form the way his cheeks look you know that he was probably crying at some point earlier that day, which strikes you as odd but you don’t question it more than necessary.

He’s dressed weird too, though. You’re dressed simply—a purple jacket, black jeans, and your nicest pair of Vans, but he’s dressed… _different._ He’s wearing an oversized mint green sweater with a pink button up underneath it and blue jeans that are rolled up about a third of the way up his calf. He has on simple white socks that you can see poking up from the top of his pink Converse.

You know that you’re making his skin crawl from staring, but you’re not done examining him yet. His hair is a friend mess of pink curls and brown roots, and you count a total of nine piercings on just his head, which leaves you curious—does he have any other piercings?

Brendon shoves you towards the guy a little bit, saying, “Quit staring at him and say something, dick.”

You end up getting him to leave the room, since you refuse to give him the satisfaction of watching you try to experiment with… whoever this guy is. He blinks at you a few times, before sticking a hand out towards you. His nails are painted black and he has a few rings on his fingers.

You shake his hand, surprised that it’s firm and actually bigger than your own hand. “You probably want to be here about as much as I do,” He mumbles quietly.

“Why don’t you want to be here?” You ask, genuinely curious. He looks dejected, and you don’t comment on it.

“I don’t know who you are and I’m tired of him trying to set me up with every guy he meets. You?”

“I’m not gay.”

“He told me. About your girlfriend, I mean,” Pink hair guy says as he moves a few pillows around on Brendon’s bed so he can sit comfortably. You sit on the other side of the room on the futon, one leg pulled to your chest and the other dangling off of the piece of furniture.

“Figures. Can’t keep his fat mouth shut worth a shit.”

“It’s not like that, Tyler. He’s just concerned, and wanted me to know what I was getting myself into if I happened to agree to this little meet and greet.”

“Huh.” You frown, and go silent after that, not really sure what to say. You end up looking at your phone, checking your notifications, until he tells you his name, indirectly demanding your attention.

You’re not gay but Joshua is rather… intriguing.

**POWER & CONTROL**

Shockingly blue eyes and pretty blonde hair that frames a pretty face is what you wake up to. You grin softly, happy to see her. A hand is on your cheek, and she’s gently kissing you, warm and inviting; she feels like home. You can feel her bare breasts against your chest as she’s slowly maneuvering herself to be laying on top of you.

You eventually peel away your blanket, and you take the time to examine and admire her body once she’s straddling you. Her hands are planted low on your abdomen, and her arms are pushing her breasts together a little bit. You drop a goofy comment about the temperature when you catch sight of hard nipples, and she giggles before gently whacking your chest with the back of her hand.

She looks like a golden goddess in the sunrise that’s starting to light your room up from the window. She’s not supposed to be here right now, and you know you’re on a twenty minute time limit before your parents are going to be coming into your room, but you’re going to enjoy her company while you can.

You _actually_ jerk awake when there’s small, eight year old hands gripping your shoulder, shaking you, saying, “You gotta get up, Tyler. Ma is already mad.”

You grunt and you sit up, trying to get the bitter taste of the memory of _her_ out of your mouth. You ask him if he’s eaten, and he shakes his head, so you take a few minutes to slip on a shirt and brush your teeth before walking to the small kitchen in the double wide you live in to feed your brother.

Your mother starts in on you, saying a bunch of dumb shit that you don’t pay attention to, and you eventually let yourself come back to reality when the door slams and you’re setting a plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns down in front of your brother.

Your parents do a shit job at taking care of him, and it makes you wonder why they decided to have another child when you were twelve. Honestly, you’d move out, but you’re afraid the kid’s going to starve to death or something worse if you were to do that.

An hour after you take Zack to school, there’s a light knocking on your door. You’re sort of expecting Brendon to be standing there, before remembering he’s seventeen and still in school. After that realization, you’re expecting either Mark or Dallon, and not Joshua, who is dressed normally, or at least as normal as he can get.

He’s just wearing skinny jeans, boots fit for northern Montana weather, and a heavy looking varsity jacket. His pink curls peek from under the hand he’s wearing, and before you can ask him why he’s at your house, or how he even found out where you live, he’s saying, “Urie gave me your address, and told me to take you on a date today.”

“I’m not gay,” You say for the third time that month, as if it’d make him go away.

He just gives you an even look before replying with, “Neither am I, but I walked five miles from my own house to get here, so the least you could do is go to Denny’s with me.” His words make it sound like he was being smart with you, but he was mumbling and sounded a little scared, honestly.

“I like IHOP better.” You kick one of your feet a little bit out of habit before inviting him in, figuring he must be cold.

“The closest IHOP is three hours away, by car, in Idaho and I don’t think I can walk that far, man.”

“Can I get dressed? I’ll drive to Denny’s. Too cold to walk.”

Joshua nods at you and you give him a bit of an awkward smile.

**HOLD ME DOWN**

You’re not a talkative person, at least not when you’re depressed, so Josh does most of the talking during the ‘date.’ It’s more like a platonic breakfast, or that’s what it feels like, at least. He talks quietly and slowly about an art project he’s been working on for the past week or so, and you nod along, not knowing what to say.

You don’t really have anything. You’re… lost. You don’t know what you want to do with your life and you don’t have anything. You based so much of your life off of sharing a future with Jenna that you really have no clue how to progress without her.

“How’s your day been?” Josh asks after a few minutes of silence from your end. You watch him stir his coffee a bit before answering.

“Dunno yet. My little brother woke me up so I could make breakfast, Mom yelled at me for a while, took my brother to school, and I’m here now. Still got about fourteen hours to go to see how my day has been.”

Somehow, Josh manages to strike up a conversation, like, an actual, interesting conversation with you in the car when you’re driving in the general direction of where either of you came from, meaning you end up at his house. He lives on his own in a dumpy little duplex, which doesn’t say much, since most everything in this town is _dumpy._ You hate this town but you can’t leave.

You’re still out of it, still having trouble keeping up a proper conversation, but he seems alarmingly patient with you, listening, and only speaking when it’s either his turn or when he thinks you’re done talking.

You’ve got a lot more in common with this man than you thought, honestly. He’s six months older than you, making either of you twenty one at the moment, he has the same music taste that you do, and he’s also into the same TV shows as you.

You feel weirdly satisfied when you leave to go pick your brother up from school that day, but you chalk it up to having someone else to talk to besides your usual crew.

**CLOSER**

The next time you see Josh you’re high, and drunk, at a party in someone’s basement. You didn’t notice him for the longest time, but eventually you saw his pink hair, so you made your way through a sea of people to see him. You don’t know where any of your friends are, and you’re starting to feel a little claustrophobic, so given the circumstances, you trust him the most.

Josh raises his eyebrows at you and doesn’t say or do anything until you raise your voice a little bit to say, “I need to leave.”

You hate parties, and you don’t know why you keep going to them. You always end up drinking too much, and doing a bunch of drugs. Nothing hard like heroin or meth, but cocaine and weed tend to be your game, plus whatever alcohol you could get your hands on. You’re a self destructive person.

Josh seems to sense that you’re not doing too hot, and Sober Tyler wants to protest when Josh wraps an arm around your shoulders to lead you out, since he’s making you feel like the girl, but Drunk & Strung Out Tyler feels safe with a muscular arm around him. You grip the back of his shirt while the two of you walk, and the next thing you know you’re sitting in the back seat of your car, staring at Josh, confused, especially when he’s shining a flashlight into one of your eyes.

You protest, saying that it hurts, and he just tells you to chill and to let him worry about you. Sober Tyler realizes a few days later that he was checking your pupils or some other medical ass bullshit, but Drunk & Strung Out Tyler is whining about the way the sudden bright light had hurt.

Josh quietly asks if you took anything, and you shrug, before giving in and listing a very short list of everything you’d ingested while at the party. Josh doesn’t seem too impressed with you, but he’s not mad, and you really wonder why you suddenly want his approval.

You take half an hour to cool down and get yourself back to earth. You’re still high, and drunk, but you don’t feel panicky anymore, and that’s when Josh asks, “Did something happen in there?”

You look at him and shake your head slowly. “Coke does stuff to my head sometimes. This was one of those times. I’m psychotic.” You shrug and say the last sentence as if it isn’t a big deal. It isn’t to you, at least, but Josh frowns.

“Psychotic?”

“Coke sometimes triggers psychotic episodes for me. That’s why I wanted to leave. I didn’t need to be hallucinating and dissociating in a room with thirty people.”

“Oh.” Josh places a hand over yours, and you let him hold it. He doesn’t really do anything with your hand, other than wrapping his fingers around yours, somehow comfortingly. “Are you hallucinating right now?”

You nod and shrug. “Just hearing some weird shit and seeing shadows that aren’t supposed to be there. Nothing new.”

“It’s still weird, bro.”

“You’re wearing lipstick and eyeliner.”

“And you’re seeing and hearing shit.”

“Touche.”

**CONTROL**

You rouse a little too early in the morning. You lay there, waiting for your little brother to come and try waking you up, but as you start to wake up more and more you notice that the blanket you’re under is too soft to be yours and that the sheets you’re laying on are linen rather than flannel. Your eyes widen, and you sit upright in half a second flat before cursing. Your head aches.

There’s a note on the table next to the bed you’re sleeping in that reads, _‘You’re probably hungover right now, and IDK if you remember what happened, but you were really high and hallucinating so I brought you to my house because there’s no way I’m walking five miles home at two in the morning. Advil is next to the sink, & feel free to help yourself to any food and water. -Josh.’_

You wander from the bedroom to the small kitchen, taking a few Advil, praying it helps get rid of the pounding in your head. You look in his fridge, but after not seeing anything that you want to eat, you check the time on the stove, and thank the lord that it’s only six, meaning you have time to get home and make sure your brother gets to school on time.

Sure, you’ll do drugs, you’ll go to parties, but you’re always home in time to make sure your brother is fed and taken care of.

You manage to get home and get into your bedroom quietly, and when you go to crawl into your bed to try and squeeze in another half hour of sleep, you find that you’re falling off of the bed, trying to avoid crushing a lump that’s the size of an eight year old curled into a fetal position.

Your little brother whines, and you curse from being startled. “Why are you in my bed?”

“I had a scary dream and Ma and Pa just told me to go back to bed.”

“Your room is across the hall, buddy,” You inform your little brother as you stand up. “Why mine?”

“Wanted a hug but you were gone.”

You sigh, quietly, and tell him to scoot over so you can get into the bed. You curl yourself around your brother, trying to transmit some sort of calming energy to him, wishing he didn’t feel scared, and cursing yourself for being out dicking around all night. He’s still a kid, and you’re trying to let him actually have a childhood rather than growing up way too fast since your parents feel as if they can just shove their responsibility off and onto you. Honestly, you’re half tempted to try filing for custody of your brother, but you don’t have a job or a place of your own yet.

That’s one of the only reasons you have to get your shit together.

**YOUNG GOD**

You want to cry out of frustration when you finally get up for good and after you’ve gotten your brother all dressed and ready for school, only to find out that there’s a snow day since it snowed fifteen inches throughout the night and you apparently just hadn’t noticed.

He starts getting a little stir crazy around ten or eleven, so you call the only person whose daily schedule you don’t have memorized to ask if you can bring your little brother to their house to hang out since your own house is pretty boring. (Josh.)

Josh agrees, happy as ever, and you’re kind of glad he’s an adult and doesn’t live with his parents. You like Brendon, you like Mark, and you like Dallon, but the first and last of that bunch are still in high school, and Mark occupies the basement in his parents’ house rather than just getting his own apartment.

Of course, you still live with _your_ parents, but you’re a budding manic depressive drug addict who hasn’t been able to get or keep a job, especially with the weather the way it is this winter. Also, your parents basically shoved the task of caring for your little brother onto you.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> abuse cw

Tyler places a hand on his left cheek and doesn't make any moves to look up at his wife, even as she continues yelling. He's not sure what he even did to provoke her, but he's afraid of moving, since it might result in further provocation, and maybe another slap. He feels himself tumbling back into the kitchen counter as she shoves him, demanding him to speak, and he only lets out the quietest, “I'm sorry.”

She goes on, saying how sorry wasn't good enough, and Tyler continues to wonder what he even did for her to be in his face, screaming at him and shoving him, not to mention poking his chest and, eventually, grabbing him by the chin and forcing him to make eye contact with sharp sapphire eyes capable of slicing him in half as if she were some sort of butcher with a smile pretty enough to seduce any sensible man.

Tyler shuts down, and waits until she gives up on trying to get him to speak to her before he comes back to. He's still standing in the kitchen, the counter digging into his back, sure to leave a bruise, phone heavy in his pocket. Okay, not that heavy, but the metaphorical weight of it is excruciating, and it only gets worse when he pulls it out and opens up a conversation with the only friend of his that doesn't personally know Jenna, and who might actually believe him if he opens up.

It's been like this for almost a third of their relationship (give or take), meaning that, for the past two or three years, Tyler's been dealing with _this._ It was small stuff at first—random bursts of anger and yelling, but she'd always come back to him, sulking, and they'd fall into bed together. Tyler has to laugh at how much a quick fuck used to be able to make him forget.

Things started escalating, though. Mostly, she just puts him down a lot, and made sure he was wrapped around her finger, seemingly dependent on him, even though, technically, she was kind of dependent on him as far as finances go. She takes and takes, and mostly, Tyler's more than happy to give, but sometimes a thank you is appreciated, you know?

She picks at him, finds things to get mad about. Hell, one time she slapped him for getting Great Value instead of the name brand of a bunch of expensive groceries. He just apologized, and forgot about it after she came to him, crying, and begging him to forgive her for the little indiscretion. _“No, no, it's fine—you weren't having the best day, and I need to learn not to be so stingy, you know?”_

Tyler slides onto the floor, hidden by the island in the kitchen, and starts typing out a message of, "I need help," to the person whose conversation he had open. _I shouldn't have to be scared of my own wife. I shouldn't have to feel like this. I shouldn't have to explain myself after every single thing I do._

Tyler presses send, and turns his phone screen off before placing his head in his hands. His face is starting to get sore, and he figures he's going to end up having a bruise there as well.

Back to the text, though—he doesn't get a response until he's in bed that night, with Jenna pressed to his side, making him forget about the fight with her warm body, seemingly soothing. Tyler's skin still crawls, and he has a deep sated feeling of _not right,_ so he makes a deal with himself—live one more night in ignorance before responding to the text message in the morning.

And morning comes. Jenna’s already up, and Tyler looks at his phone in disdain before he allows himself to sit up. He sits there, gripping the edge of his mattress with his hands, blinking deliberately slowly, breathing deeply and steadily before he finally looks up and stares at his reflection in the mirror that’s across from the bed. He can’t see himself, given he’s horribly nearsighted, so he grabs his glasses from their resting place beside the bed. Usually, he only wears them if he can’t find his contacts, needs to get more contacts, or unless he’s too lazy to put his contacts in. Right now, he’s too lazy, given he just barely woke up.

Back to the mirror, though. His lip is split, which is something he didn’t even realize. He figures her hand must’ve knocked his lip against one of his crooked teeth on his bottom jaw. He has a tendency to give both his tongue and his lips little sores from the irregularly placed teeth.

He turns his head a little bit, and, sure enough, there’s a bruise in the shape of her fingers high up on his cheekbone. It’s been a while since she’s slapped him that hard. This time it’s bad enough that he probably can’t cover it up with concealer and foundation, and he thinks that’s going to be hard to explain to his boss if it doesn’t clear up by Monday. Which it probably won’t, judging by how bad it is and how bad his head hurts.

Tyler doesn’t even bother looking at his phone again as he walks into the master bathroom. He goes through the motions of brushing and flossing his teeth, shaving the minimal amount of stubble that usually stops growing after three days, before pulling his flannel pants off, and stepping out of them. He usually doesn’t sleep with underwear or with a shirt, so the pants were all he had to peel off of himself before stepping over the side of the bath tub to go through the process of showering.

Once he’s out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and one draped over his head so he can dry his hair as he walks to his dresser, he picks up his phone. He doesn’t turn the screen on, but he can see the green notification light that means he has a notification from a text message. Samsung Galaxies are useful like that. Of course, he has the newest model of the Samsung Galaxy Note, since he won’t settle for anything but the biggest and the best. (Though, he skipped out on the Note 7 after hearing about the exploding batteries.)

Tyler sets his phone on his dresser as he goes through his shirt drawer. He sees the one flower button up he has, and he’s half tempted to wear it just to get under Jenna’s skin, since she thinks it makes him look queer, but he decides against it, figuring now isn’t the time to provoke her. Instead he pulls out a neatly folded up white button up, then looks into his sock drawer, trying to decide which pair he should wear.

_Maybe black, since that’s basically my mood right now… Or blue. Blue always looks good. I could go for the reindeer ones that Zack got me as a joke last year. Yeah, I’m wearing reindeer socks. It’s barely even August, but I want to wear reindeer socks._

As usual, Tyler pulls out a pair of slacks instead of the jeans he actually wants to wear. Why he dresses up like some stiff with a poker up his ass, he has no idea. It’s safe, though. It’s safe, and no one questions him. He doesn’t stand out. That’s what Tyler likes to do. He likes to blend in, go with he flow. It’s never been his game to do anything drastic.

He settles on a simple navy blue tie, and a sports coat about the same color, and Tyler waits until his black leather belt is buckled and until he’s got on his fanciest pair of dress shoes, most definitely from Prada’s winter collection from the year previous, to finally, _finally,_ look at his fucking phone.

He feels like he’s going to throw up just from reading the message preview. There wasn’t anything specific being shown, other than, _4 new messages._

He opens the application. Two messages from Jenna, telling him that, basically, she’s going out for coffee with her friends, then shopping with her friends. One from Amazon, telling him that his order consisting of belts, socks, ties, and a new charging cable for his laptop had been shipped, and that he could expect it in two days. The fourth one was a five digit number from Sprint, asking him to do a survey.

He goes to his conversation with the friend, and sees _Not sent_ next to his message, and remembers that, yeah, his house has really shitty reception. He just deletes the message, figuring that it’s a sign that he doesn’t actually need help. That this is how things are supposed to be. And that he’s just going to go into his bathroom, rifle through Jenna’s make up until he finds primer and concealer with a green tint to balance out the red, foundation that matches his skin tone, and powder to set it.

He shouldn’t have to know how to cover up the bruise from a slap, or how to cover up black eyes from conveniently misplaced fists, or busted and bruised lips from unfortunate accidents with fists and slaps and his teeth. Tyler laughs bitterly when he sees that he’s tearing up as he dabs the primer onto the bruise.

He uses the hand not dabbing concealer onto his face to wipe his eyes off. Now’s not the time to cry. He could ruin the make up. The foundation is easy, and the powder is easier. Tyler looks around the counter until he finds a can of aerosol hairspray. He heard somewhere on the internet that aerosol hairspray is good for setting make up, so he closes his eyes and sprays it on that part of his face from a safe distance.

Now, Tyler smells like hairspray, and his eye just looks suspiciously normal colored yet swollen, and he can’t really even smile since it hurts both his lip and his cheek. Not like he’d smile in the first place.

Tyler figures he should treat himself to coffee and some of those puffy sugar cookies from Walmart. God, Jenna would never let him have those cookies. Too much carbs, and they’re supposed to be on a _vegan, no carb, no sugar_ diet.

Tyler breaks it whenever he goes to work, since he’s hypoglycemic and literally _needs_ sugar in his diet, or he could have a seizure. It’s happened before. Of course, the last time it happened, Tyler was twenty, and trying to recover from an eating disorder, but, now, he’s twenty seven, and is trying to avoid having that happen _again._

He’s already feeling woozy, so he grabs his wool coat, and buttons it precisely before leaving the bedroom, and grabbing the keys to his car from the key rack next to the door that leads to the garage that’s next to the kitchen. He closes and locks the door behind him, and gently presses the button to open the garage door.

Everything about Tyler is _gentle._ He hardly ever raises his voice, and even then, it’s usually at a video game. He has _never_ hit anyone, on purpose at least. The most he’s done is accidentally elbowing one of his friends from turning around too quickly, and he’d started crying immediately after. He felt so terrible.

Tyler doesn’t even press to hard when he’s scribbling his signature onto papers, or when he’s writing out a fucking grocery list. He doesn’t slam the car door when he shuts it, he doesn’t stomp his feet when he’s angry, and he (usually) doesn’t even _swear._ Out loud, at least. In his head, he has quite the potty mouth, but out loud he’s never said anything more than a _shit_ or a _fuck_ out of reflex after stubbing his toe or hitting his elbow on something.

Tyler even has sex gently. Jenna almost _always_ begs him to be rough, but Tyler doesn’t have it in him. He’s afraid of hurting her, and, even after all of the shit she’s done to him, he still tries treating her like a princess, even though she doesn’t show the slightest bit of gratitude.

Tyler sits in his car for a few minutes once he’s in the parking lot of a Starbucks, and tips his head back against the seat, closing his eyes, breathing very softly yet deliberately. He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles are white, then releases it. He does that a few times, before tapping it, then his right cheek, with his hands and a hand, saying, “Alright. I can do this. I just want a latte. I’m just going to go in there and order a latte. I need it anyways or I’m going to end up fainting.”

Tyler gets out of his car, slowly, cursing because, hey, he’s already feeling a little light headed, and after making sure his car is locked, he starts walking towards the entrance of the Starbucks, trying to stand tall, and proud, keeping his head high, and trying to pretend he isn’t tired, upset, and tries to pretend that he doesn’t have dangerously low blood sugar.

He orders the biggest caramel latte he can, knowing that one has the most sugar in it. Tyler’s a skinny guy, and he’s not worried about gaining weight anymore, but he just—he needs to be healthy. He wishes he didn’t have to go behind Jenna’s back to eat fucking _sugar._ He’s tried explaining it, he has, but she just tells him, “Just eat some fruit!”

Tyler doesn’t even _like_ fruit. He likes carrots and broccoli and even fucking lima beans, but he can’t handle fruit. It always goes bad too fast, it tastes too sweet to him, and he almost always gags whenever he tries eating fruit.

Tyler sits at a table away from the window, almost in a corner, sipping at the latte through a straw, when he feels a hand lightly nudging his shoulder, and someone saying, “Hey, Tyler?”

Tyler looks up, not really expecting someone to _know_ him. Tyler cringes, almost, when he sees that it’s _Josh._ Of course, it’s Josh. He’s the friend that Tyler had tried texting. “Uh. Hey, man. It’s—it’s been a while.”

Josh grins a half grin, saying, “Yeah, man. Mind if I sit?”

“Uh, no, not at all. Make yourself at home.” Tyler gestures to the seat across from him, and Josh smiles again, wider this time, and sits.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you since before we graduated high school.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been—I’ve been okay. Been better, been worse. Decided to treat myself to some coffee. Gonna go binge on those sugar cookies from Walmart later.”

“What happened to your, uh, your lip?” Josh gestures towards his own bottom lip with a finger.

“Oh—I uh—had a little incident.” He shows Josh the teeth on his bottom jaw. “Lip caught on my teeth after I hit it against something.” _More like after something hit against it._

Josh doesn’t look like he quite believes Tyler. “Ah, sucks, I guess.”

“It’s fine. How’ve you been?”

“Got into an art school, dropped out, and now I’m working part time at a Guitar Center and a Subway trying to pay off my debt, and trying to restore some health to my horribly fried hair. Other than that, though, I’ve been alright. So, uh… I heard you got married a few years ago.”

Tyler looks at the simple gold wedding band around his ring finger, and rotates it a bit with his thumb. “Yeah. Uh. She’s—she’s great. Has her faults and all, but she’s pretty great.”

“That why your eye is swollen and why you did a piss poor job at covering the bruise on your face?” Josh gestures towards his cheek.

“Uh. _Fuck_. Is it bad?”

“Don’t think anyone else would notice, but I’ve done stage make up for a while now, and I—I do drag. I know what a covered up bruise looks like.”

“Shit. I texted you last night, but it never sent.” Tyler rests his forehead in his hand. “I was going to ask if you’d help me. You’re the only one who doesn’t know her personally. I thought it was a sign that I—I didn’t need out.”

“Well, that’s a lie,” Josh says quietly as he looks down into his own drink. “I walked here. Think I could come with you to Walmart? I need groceries anyways. It’ll give you a few hours out of the house, I guess.”

“That’s why I tried texting you, y’know.” Tyler blows a breath out through his nose.

“Why’s that? Wanted me to go to Walmart with you?” Josh gives him a bittersweet smirk.

“No. It’s because you’re nice. I remember you took me to an emergency room in high school because some… some _guy_ punched me and broke my nose. We weren’t even _friends,_ but you did that. I still think about that sometimes, even though it was over a decade ago.”

“Your nose was bleeding real bad, dude. It was either me or they call an ambulance. Figured I was the less embarrassing and dramatic choice.”

Tyler huffs a bit. “Still. That meant a lot to me.”

“Don’t sweat it, Tyler. Anyways, you want to finish that drink in your car…?”

“Uh. No. She’d have my head if I drank anything in my car. It’s a Cadillac.”

“And you have a half finished latte. I’m already done with my hot chocolate. If you want to drink in _your_ car, then do it, man.”

Tyler picks at the lid to the latte, before saying. “Alright. If it spills, though, I’m blaming you.”

“Feel free. I think I can take on a hundred and ten pound twenty four year old.”

“You _know_ who my wife is?”

“I have you added on Facebook, dude. She’s always posting shit on your wall. Anyways, _c’mon.”_ Josh is up now, not touching Tyler this time, but looking at him expectantly.

Tyler grabs his arm as he stands up, and he leads the way out of the shop, slowly. Josh follows, and Tyler can see the way Josh goes to help him balance, but stops himself once in a while. Tyler rolls his eyes. “Josh, I’m not going to break if you grab my arm to help balance me.”

Josh coughs awkwardly, but holds onto Tyler’s arm as they walk to his car. Tyler unlocks the doors, and Josh gets into the passenger’s seat. Josh looks around the car, and says, “Wow. Okay. This is real nice. The last time I was in a Cadillac I was making out with some girl who has millionaires for parents.”

“Well, I’m a lawyer, and I represent celebrities and rich business men who got caught doing illegal shit with the stock market, meaning I make upwards of three hundred grand a year if not more.”

Josh’s jaw drops and his eyes widen. _“Fuck,_ be my sugar daddy. _Please.”_

Tyler gives him a quick once over. “I’ll consider it.”

“Oh, god, dude, I was kidding.”

“I’m gay, so it’s… tempting.”

Josh makes some high-pitched shrieking noise. “No fucking way. Why the hell are you married to a girl?”

“Peer pressure from my family. Never had the nerve to come out.”

“Shit. That sucks.”

Tyler nods slightly.

“Okay, Tyler, enough—enough joking around. Do you actually want me to help you?”

Tyler looks at him, looking genuinely scared, but says, “I want to say no, and I want to play it safe, but, yeah. I—I need help out of this. Last night wasn’t the worst of it, but it was my last straw.”

Josh nods, and has a pensive look on his face as he looks out of the window in front of him. “What’s she like? _Actually_ like? You don’t gotta tell me, but I might be able to provide some insight. Had an abusive boyfriend a while back.”

“I wish I didn’t _fucking_ trust you right off the bat. Christ.” Tyler runs his hands through his hair, and balls his fists up, pulling at it. “I’m hypoglycemic and she has both of us on a vegan, no carb, no sugar diet, and I used to be bad enough that I’d have seizures. I also had an eating disorder but—fuck. I have to go _behind her back_ to have anything with sugar in it. That’s why I’m all wobbly and not able to stand up straight, and it’s why I’m using the four hours she’s going to be out of the house to go to a _fucking_ Walmart to get a six pack of those _fucking_ sugar cookies.”

“You should go for an eighteen pack, man,” Josh says, looking at him with an empathetic look.

Tyler manages to maintain his composure for a grand total of thirty seconds before starting to cry, gently repeating, _“God fucking damn it,”_ over and over as he starts hitting his palms against his forehead and kicking his feet slightly.

Josh reaches over and grabs his hands. “Tyler, _Tyler,_ you need to calm down. You can freak out and have your panic attack later, but I think, right now, we should go to that Walmart, and get you some freakin’ cookies, and then hang out and watch some shitty TV show at your house. If I’m allowed, of course.”

Tyler just wipes at his eyes and hits his steering wheel weakly. “You’re _allowed._ I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you for this, man.”

“Don’t start with that shit, Tyler. You don’t get to decide my feelings and whether or not I want to help. You need out of that. You—you shouldn’t have to know how to cover _bruises,_ and your damn lip shouldn’t be split, and you shouldn’t be scared of your fucking wife, and you shouldn’t be on a diet that has no sugar. We are going to _go to Walmart,_ and you’re going to get the biggest pack of those sugar cookies that you want, and we are going to park our asses on your couch, then we’re going to watch whatever show you want, and if she says anything, you’re going to tell her off. Well, probably not _off,_ and you probably shouldn’t be rude, but you get me, man.”

“The last time I smarted off to her or talked back was three years ago and she slapped me across the face and gave me a black eye. And it was also the first time she slapped me. She apologized, we slept together, and I forgot about it. Not like I’m going to repeat that incident.”

“But you’re gay…?”

“And I’m married. It’s not like I don’t _like_ the sex, but I don’t—I’ve never loved her like I should, man.”

“Have you ever slept with another guy before?” Josh asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Nah. I made out with my best friend once, though, and it was—it was better than anything I’ve ever done with any girl, and it didn’t even go below the hips.”

“Well, if you weren’t married, I’d make an offer.” Josh wiggles his eyebrows and smirks when Tyler goes red.

“I’d accept, but now’s not the time. I don’t even know what I should do.” Tyler lets his head fall back.

“You want me to tell you what I really think you should do aside from eating some cookies?”

“Am I going to like it?”

“Probably not.”

“Tell me.”

“I think that we should go to your house for a while so you can eat some of the cookies, and I think you should find a make up wipe and take the make up off your face, and after that I think you should pack up as many clothes as you might need, anything you need for work, and whatever else, then I think you should call 911. You have bruises on your face, a split lip, and even a black eye starting to form, or already formed. I can’t tell.”

“I have an album on my phone that I started about a year and a half ago with more pictures, by the way.”

“I hate to say it, but that’s—that’s good.”

“I’m a lawyer. I know. Also, I have a pretty nasty bruise on my back from being shoved into the counter in my kitchen.”

“Are you on board with that plan, Tyler?”

“I want to say no, but I’m afraid it’s going to escalate some day. I mean, I’ll probably be fine because I’m a lawyer, I have money, and—would you—would you testify against her if I needed you to?”

“Once hundred percent.”

Tyler takes a deep breath, and ends up having to give Josh his keys and get into the passenger’s seat since he’s shaking a little too much and he feels a little too faint to be driving. He gives Josh the directions to the nearest Walmart, and once there, he gives the man his debit card and tells him his pin. (Tyler knows he shouldn’t, but he’s close to having a panic attack, and figures going into a store isn’t going to help.)

Josh comes back about ten or fifteen minutes later with the cookies and he apologizes for it, but, he’d also gotten the man a pack of M&M’s. Tyler tells him not to sweat it, and after giving Josh directions to his house, Josh says, “If you want, I think it might be safer to go to an emergency room. At least, that’s what I did. I also had a broken nose, and a, uh, few other complications, but it’d like… It would further document anything that happened. If you call police, though, get their names and badge numbers.”

Tyler nods, and opens the pack of candy, popping a few into his mouth.

“I’ll help you get things packed, if you want. Just—listen—I don’t take shit like this lightly.”

“How are you not… freaking out?”

“Oh, trust me, on the inside I am, but I have a high dose of Xanax in my system. Prescribed, of course.”

“Oh. Could you look at the bruise on my back and see how bad it is? I couldn’t see it too well in the mirror when I showered this morning. If you think it’s bad enough, I might go with the emergency room idea.”

Josh just nods, and continues driving. Tyler stares into space, eating M&M’s once in a while, breathing deliberately, and is almost confused when Josh nudges him in the arm to ask if he was at the correct house. Tyler looks at he house for a moment, before confirming that it is his. Josh whistles lowly before getting out of Tyler’s car, and walking around the passenger’s side to help him out. He’s a little more balanced now, but he still holds onto the sleeve of Josh’s jacket as he leads the man into his house.

“Christ, Tyler. This is—this is a nice house.”

Tyler nods, and kicks his shoes off by the door, and takes his wool coat off before hanging it on the coat rack, making a note to put it in its spot in his room before Jenna gets home and rags on him for it. “Uh. What now?”

“Cookies. Eat some of them.”

“Shit. I forgot.”

“It’s cool, bro. Where’s your living room at?”

“Can’t eat in there. That’s just—that’s a preference of mine, by the way.”

“Ah, alright.” He follows Tyler as the man leads the way through his kitchen. Josh opens the plastic box containing the cookies, and takes one for himself before sliding it over the island towards Tyler.

Tyler takes one, and takes his time eating it. He’s about halfway through his third one when he hears the garage door opening. His eyes widen, and he stuffs the rest of the cookie into his mouth and in almost record time, he has the box of cookies closed and stuffed into the back of the cabinet that he’s standing in front of. “She fucking came back early. Fuck.”

“It’s chill, Tyler.” Josh watches the door that leads into the house from the garage, and he’s thrown off at the pretty blonde who walks in. She gives him horrible vibes in the first place, even worse now that he knows what’s been happening in the Joseph household.

“Uh.” Her eyes flick over to where Tyler’s standing at the counter. “Who’s this?”

“His name’s Josh. We went to high school together.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Also, you should put your coat away,” She says, almost meekly, and Josh squints at her once her back is turned to them to get something off of the counter. “Where did this Josh come from? Didn’t see a car out front.”

“My parents live a few streets over, and I figured I’d walk over to bullshit with Tyler since I haven’t seen him in a few years,” Comes his smooth response. It’s a total lie—his parents live in Columbus, not New York.

She makes some noise of affirmation, and says, “I would’ve stayed out longer, but one of my friends had to go home, so shopping didn’t happen. Unfortunately,” to Tyler.

“Sorry about that, hon.”

She waves her hand dismissively before turning back around. “I’m going to go watch some TV. The two of you should join me.” She smiles. She smiles and looks _so_ friendly and it really gets under Josh’s skin.

Once she’s out of earshot, Josh lowers his voice, saying, “Is she faking it?”

Tyler shrugs. “Can’t tell. She’s like that most of the time. Uh.” He looks in the direction that his wife had gone in, and lowers his voice as he says, “Can we—can we go to my bedroom? Can’t be heard from there.”

Josh nods, and follows Tyler up his stairs, and through the hallway until they’re standing at a door that can only be the man’s bedroom. Tyler walks in, and, as he has been for the past few minutes, Josh follows him in. Tyler closes the door behind him, then says, “What the fuck do I do now? I was expecting her to be out for another two and a half hours.”

“Can you get from your bedroom and to your car without her seeing you?”

“I mean, she didn’t see us going up the stairs, so as long as she stays in the living room, yeah.”

“Okay, uh...” Josh lets out a breath that puffs his cheeks up, before he slowly lets it out. “Like, I said, pack clothes and whatever you’re going to need for work, and any other essentials. I can help carry things if you need me to. I think taking you to an emergency room would be the safer choice right now. Grab make up wipes too, and I’ll clean your face off in your car.”

Tyler nods. “Uh. My back. Would you look at it?”

Josh nods, and motions for Tyler to take his shirt off. Tyler pulls his tie off, unbuttons the shirt shakily, and lets his fall off of his shoulders before turning around. Tyler winces at the way Josh lets out a small hissing noise. “Yeah, I’m—I’m taking you to an emergency room. That’s a pretty nasty bruise. Christ.”

Tyler swallows and nods, and hands Josh his button up while he goes over to his dresser to get a plain black sweatshirt. One without a hood, of course. He puts it on, and walks over to his closet, scanning it, until spotting the suitcase that he rarely uses unless he has to travel for work. He drags it out, and Josh takes it from him to set it on the man’s bed. Tyler mumbles, “Unzip it,” before going back to his closet and pulling out two suits. That’s the _least_ he will need.

He rifles through his dresser, and gets out ten outfits, thanking the lord the suitcase is big. He goes and gets his prescription for Wellbutrin and tosses it into his suitcase as well. He asks Josh to close it, before walking over to the place in the room that he keeps the bag that he usually puts his laptop in when he needs to travel.

“My laptop is in a different room.”

“Which one?”

“Office. It’s near the stairs.”

“Go get it, then. I can wait.”

Tyler sighs once again, and obeys. It doesn’t take long before he has everything he’d need packed. “Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“Where would I even stay?”

Josh blanks. “Shit. I didn’t think of that. Uh. Do you have any family…?”

“Columbus.”

“Ah, right. You’re from Columbus too. I forgot.”

“Any friends…?”

“None that don’t know her very well, besides you.”

“And my apartment is really shitty.”

“How shitty?”

“Like, not that shitty, but the walls are thin and it’s a basement apartment, since it’s all I could afford. It’s clean and all and I have alright furniture. Two bedrooms one bath.”

“I may live in a big house, but I’m—I’m not really that sophisticated, honestly. Is it too much to ask…?”

Josh shakes his head immediately. “Dude, no, not at all. I wouldn’t be helping if I wasn’t willing to do everything in my power to make sure you’re alright.”

Tyler nods. “Funny that we both moved to New York, and you just happened to see me at Starbucks.”

“Yeah, it’s a coincidence. Anyways, you want to get going…?”

“Yeah. Uh. The suitcase has wheels, and I’m… I’m not really that strong…? It’d make noise and might get her attention.”

“And I only have about five percent body fat. Don’t sweat it, dude.”

Tyler takes a few minutes to close his eyes, and breathe, trying to get his pulse to go back down to a normal level.

“Do you want a hug, Tyler…? You look like you could use one.”

Tyler’s expecting Josh to look uncomfortable when he opens his eyes, but he just looks genuinely concerned. Tyler nods and let’s the man hug him, and he tears up a little bit but Josh is soothingly running his hand over his head, being careful not to mess his hair up.

Getting out of the house is easy enough. Tyler just tells her that he’s going to take Josh home and that he’s going to be out for a while running a few errands. Josh gets to drive again, but before leaving, he takes the make up wipes from Tyler, and opens the container to grab one. He takes the man’s chin in his hand, and gently starts wiping his face. As more and more make up comes off, Josh’s face grows more and more grim and Tyler asks, “How bad is my face?”

“Pretty, uh, pretty bad, Tyler. You’ve got a little bruise around your mouth from the split lip, and the bruise from the slap is pretty purple. Uh. Look in the mirror, I guess.” Josh points to the mirror outside of Tyler’s window, and Tyler’s eyes widen.

“Jesus. I—fuck. That’s bad. That’s really bad.”

“I know, Tyler.”

“Wait—shit—her debit card. She has a debit card for my bank account. What if she withdraws everything?”

“You can only usually withdraw five hundred to two thousand at a time from an ATM. How much is in your account?”

“About six hundred thou, but still.”

“Does she have her own bank account?”

“No. I’m in charge of finances and she can’t get into my bank account, but she has a debit card, man.”

“Okay, well, do you want to drive to your bank and cancel it…?”

“I think, yeah. Still going to an emergency room later?”

“Of course.”

Tyler tells him which bank he uses, and Josh gives him a thumbs up before he gets to driving. They spend half an hour there, and don’t have too much trouble getting the card canceled after Tyler shakily explains what’s going on.

And then, finally, Josh drives to the nearest hospital. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to go in there, you’re going to tell the receptionist that you need help, and that it’s an _emergency._ Whenever a nurse comes to get you, you’re going to tell them _exactly_ how you got the bruises on your face and your back. When asked, of course. You’re probably going to be asked if you want to speak to a police officer or something along the lines of that, and you’re going to say yes. You’ll be questioned, and I’ll probably be questioned too, and it’s required that they file a report for domestic abuse, and you’ll probably be asked if you want to press charges, and you’re going to say _yes._ After that, there will probably be a warrant for her arrest, and she’s going to have a _fit,_ most likely, but you’re a lawyer, you have the resources to get a really good lawyer for yourself. She’s probably going to have one appointed to her by the state, since I’m assuming she doesn’t have enough money to get one herself.”

Tyler nods. “Can you stay with me? I feel like I’m going to wuss out of it if you’re not there.”

“Of course. You’ll probably have an x-ray done on your back, since, like I said, that’s a _really_ nasty bruise. Just, by the way. You can do this, man. I got you.”

They’re at the emergency room for six hours, mostly waiting for things to happen, Tyler _almost_ has a few panic attacks, but Josh talks him down with ease each time it’s about to happen, and before they know it, they’re at Josh’s apartment, and Josh is showing him the extra bedroom.

“S’not much, but the mattress is alright, and there’s alright closet space. Don’t really got anywhere for your laptop besides your lap or my coffee table, but, uh, yeah. My room’s across the hall, and it’s a mess, since I wasn’t really expecting to, uh, have this happen today, but. You know. Not much in the fridge either, since we forgot groceries at Walmart, and since that really wasn’t the first thing on my mind, but I could find the money to order a pizza.”

Tyler sniffles and wipes at his nose as he sets his laptop case on the bed that looks suspiciously comfortable. He pulls his wallet from his back pocket, and hands Josh his debit card. “Order whatever you want from Pizza Hut. Be reasonable, though. I like cheese, light sauce, and stuffed crust, and diet Mountain Dew is generally my soda choice,” He rambles out softly and shakily.

Josh clicks his tongue almost silently and steps over to squeeze his shoulder lightly. “I’ll order two medium pizzas and two liters of soda for us.”

“Bread sticks too, man. Can’t be pizza night without bread sticks.

“Pizza night?”

“It’s pizza night now, Josh. Go order pizza.” Tyler waves him off so he can unzip his suitcase. He rifles through it until he finds the bottle that has his antidepressants in it, and until he can find a pair of pajama pants. There isn’t a mirror in this bedroom, so he can’t watch himself get undressed. It’s part of his ritual for whatever reason.

He pokes around the back of Josh’s apartment until he finds the bathroom, and he looks at himself in the mirror after flicking the lights on and closing the door. The bruise is still bad and his eye his more swollen than it was that morning. Not swollen enough to close up, but swollen enough to hurt if he makes any sort of facial expression. His lip is still split and nothing is going to change that.

He turns around and cranes his head back over his shoulder, and has to stand up on his toes to see his back. The bruise is—it’s pretty bad. It’s a little yellow and a little blue and purple and red and so many colors that Tyler can’t even _begin_ to list them. Okay, he did just list them, but it’s one of the worst bruises he’s had and his back hurts more than he’d like to admit.

He just sighs, exits the bathroom, and retrieves his phone from the room Josh had let him lay claim to before walking back out into the main area. The apartment is kind of homey, honestly. The lighting from outside is kind of dim, since the windows are real high up on the ceiling, and the lights themselves on the ceiling aren’t too bright in the first place.

The walls are an off white matte that Tyler kind of likes better than the beige that covers his own house. Tyler, honestly, hates beige, but Jenna insisted that it looked good. Josh’s TV isn’t anything fancy—just a thirty two inch flat screen from probably around 2010 if Tyler had to guess just from looking at it.

The kitchen… It’s small. So small. It’s small enough that Tyler could probably fit it in his own living room twice, but he still _likes_ it for whatever reason. Tyler knows that his own parents would hate it, since it’s small, and it’s not fancy, but Tyler just—it feels like a _home._ His house doesn’t. It just feels like a place that he’s been occupying for the past few years or so.

Josh is sitting on his couch, with his phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder while he places an order at Pizza Hut, and once he finishes doing that, Tyler sits down on the man’s couch, careful not to press his back against it. Not _ten seconds_ later, his phone starts ringing, and he—he just—

“Is it a toll free number?” Josh asks.

“Uh, yeah, actually.”

Josh motions for Tyler to hand him his phone. “Probably your wife calling to ask you what the hell happened, and probably asking you to post bail. Same thing happened with my ex boyfriend. You want me to answer?”

Tyler nods.

“I’m putting it on speaker.”

Tyler nods once more.

A very pointed and angry voice asks, _“Tyler?”_ as soon as they’re past the Default Debbie asking Josh (Tyler) if he’s willing to accept any charges that may or may not apply.

Josh motions between him and Tyler, silently asking who should speak. Tyler signals that he’s going to do it, before saying, “Uh. Hey.”

“ _Would you like to explain why a_ police officer _showed up at our house to_ arrest me _on charges of_ domestic violence _and_ assault?”

Tyler points at Josh next, not really having the nerve to say anything.

The rest of the call goes as expected. Josh speaks for Tyler for the most part, and Tyler chips in once in a while to confirm that, yes, Josh is being truthful. She basically screams at Tyler through the phone, and Tyler flinches and holds Josh’s hand when it’s offered to him, gripping it hard enough to cut off circulation, and hard enough that his knuckles turn white.

“Talk to your lawyer tomorrow, Tyler,” Josh says quietly as he hands Tyler’s phone back to him. “Probably should get some sort of restraining order. Uh, with my boyfriend, a lot of shit happened, and there was a trial and all since he wouldn’t just self surrender. Her lawyer might try to cop a plea deal or something. Anyways, that process took a few months, and he was only in jail for a few days, but I had a court order saying he couldn’t be within fifty feet of me knowingly. Same thing is going to happen to you, most likely.”

“What if they toss it out since she’s a girl? She’s so small and fragile looking, and I’m kind of tall and I’m not necessarily _skinny_ but I’m not underweight and my fat is distributed in such a way that it gives off the illusion of muscle and I’m a fucking lawyer and she depends on me financially and—”

Josh puts a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “Don’t get yourself worked up. Tonight, we’re going to pretend nothing’s wrong, and we’re going to eat pizza and watch whatever shitty drama is on ABC.”

Tyler swallows once and wipes at his eyes, and he goes to set his phone on the coffee table, but ends up snapping back to exactly where he’d been sitting since the movement had jostled his back. Josh takes his phone and sets it near where Tyler was going to set it, and says, “I’m going to go get you some Advil and a heating pad.”

“Wouldn’t ice be better…?”

“Ice makes your muscles constrict or whatever the word is because it’s cold. Heating pads kinda loosen them up since it’s warm. I’ve pulled enough muscles during football and had enough bruises of my own to know the drill.” Josh gently pats Tyler on the shoulder as he goes and gets the aforementioned items.

Josh unplugs one of his lamps so Tyler can use the heating pad, and after pizza and bread sticks and soda arrives, they sit there eating and making small talk, and Tyler confirms that, he does, still, in fact, have a crush on Joshua Dun.

He does end up having a panic attack, a bad one, and Josh just helps him through it. It was triggered over something seemingly stupid to most people, but not to Tyler or Josh. Someone in a TV show had gotten slapped and Tyler had told Josh to turn it off immediately. Of course, Josh had obeyed without even questioning him, and over the course of three or so minutes, Tyler had started tearing up and had let out this quiet little sob and Josh just sighed, and lifted his arm, saying, “Get over here, Tyler.”

And Tyler does, he feels so _small,_ even though he’s taller than Josh (by two inches, but still), and he just—he tucks himself into the man’s side, even though they haven’t even been talking again for more than ten hours. It’s—it’s pretty late at night now, and Tyler is tired and sleep deprived and Josh is honestly just focusing on getting him to calm down.

Tyler ends up just falling asleep with his head in Josh’s lap, and Josh doesn’t have it in him to wake the man up.

The next few days are… Well, they feel like the calm before the storm. The day after shit hit the fan, Josh blew off work, and just hung out with Tyler. The second day after shit hit the fan was Monday, meaning Tyler left Josh’s apartment early enough to go to his own home, with Josh in tow, since Josh is experienced in the art of make up, and can do a decent job at covering up bruises.

“Jenna has shitty fucking make up, Christ,” Josh mutters as he goes through her numerous make up bags. “I hate MAC so much. For one thing, they test on animals, and for another—I just—it’s overrated. I could get better shit than this at Walmart. But, we don’t have time, since you need to take me home so I can go to my job and so you can go to your own job, since you insist on going to work.”

“I’m in the middle of a huge case, Josh. I can’t just leave, and it’s not a good time to pass this off to another lawyer. Can you just—could you spare me the lecture and work on getting this bruise covered up?”

Josh nods and doesn’t say anything else as he gets to work on applying primer. Tyler winces, and Josh apologizes, but says that he’s being as gentle as he can. “Anyways, last time, your problem is that you didn’t put on a whole face, and you didn’t use anything to seal the make up other than hairspray, and don’t tell me you didn’t because I could smell it on you.”

“How do you know how to do this?” Tyler asks quietly.

“Got into drag and stage make up in my early twenties, and I’m a clumsy shit, meaning I’ve managed to get myself in the eye before, meaning black eyes, then… Well, I told you my ex boyfriend is a piece of shit. Like, Jenna level piece of shit. Got socked in the face enough to basically be an expert by now.”

“Oh, um, sorry for asking…?”

“Don’t worry about it, man. I’m mostly over it.”

Once Josh is done with Tyler’s cover-up of the bruise, the slightly younger man asks, “How deep in debt are you?”

“A little over a hundred grand,” Josh replies easily as he watches Tyler rifle through his fridge for a bit, before remembering that he’d stashed the cookies under the island.

“You have an exact amount?” And now Tyler is using his lawyer voice. There’s a distinct difference between his regular voice and his lawyer voice. His regular voice is soft, gentle, and almost timid, but his lawyer voice is intimidating, strong, and almost the exact opposite of his regular voice.

“A little below a hundred and twenty, I think. Why?”

Tyler reaches into the back pocket of his slacks, pulling out his checkbook, and grabbing a pen that’d been laying on the counter.

“Tyler, Christ, please tell me you aren’t about to do what I think you’re about to do.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Shut up and accept the gift. I probably wouldn’t have done any of this if it weren’t for you, so just let me help you in return.”

“Tyler, put that away. This isn’t conditional.”

Tyler slams his checkbook on the counter, and whirls around to look at Josh. _“I know._ I’m not an idiot, Josh. I know you wouldn’t ever dare asking for anything in exchange, and I know you don’t _expect_ anything. You’re that kind of person. I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t know how to properly express gratitude other than whipping out my checkbook, so let me do this, alright?”

Tyler doesn’t even raise his voice, at all, which surprises Josh. Judging from the look on the man’s face, he was expecting to get yelled at, but Tyler’s voice was below even his speaking level. Josh just stares, in awe, at the check that gets handed to him, with the amount _‘$120,000.00’_ written on it.

“I… have spent four years, working two jobs, busting my _ass_ trying to pay off my debt, and you’re just… you’re giving me this money? You’re just—you’re _doing_ that?”

“What’s your dream job?” Tyler asks, bluntly.

“I want to be a make up artist but also a successful drag queen.”

“Use whatever is leftover to get started on that, then. If you want, I can introduce you to a buddy of mine. He’s a stockbroker, and I’m pretty sure this is illegal as all hell, but he’d be able to point you towards some companies to invest in if you needed more funds. Anyways, I need to get you home, because I need to go to work, so get your jacket and come on.”

Josh takes his wallet out while Tyler’s putting on his wool coat, and he places the check in the space where he usually keeps whatever dollar bills he usually has. On the ride to Josh’s apartment, Tyler says, “Don’t cash that unless I’m with you. It’d look suspicious if you cashed a huge check from someone you barely know when you probably don’t have much in the first place.”

“Yeah—yeah, uh, yeah—whatever you want, man. Fuck. Um. Shit. I don’t have anything to say. I was going to try giving you some advice, but I can’t really think right now.”

“Just shut up, and accept it. Can I stay at your apartment for a few more days? Or maybe for a while? Uh, just in case she like… comes home.”

“Whatever keeps you safe, man. You can stay with me for as long as you’d need or like.”

“I could probably just rent a condo or an apartment for myself.”

“But it’s always fun to have a little company, Tyler. Anyways, like, why would you ever give up shitty insulation and terrible shag carpet?”

Tyler chuckles a little bit, and they go back and forth for the rest of the ride. Tyler slips back in to get what he needs for work, before leaving again for the next twelve hours or so.

Tyler’s in the middle of his lunch break when his phone starts vibrating, with a caller ID that reads _Toll Free Number._ He lets out a breath, and debates for a few seconds before answering.

After the Default Debbie, Jenna just starts talking. _“I need to talk to you as my lawyer and not my husband, alright? What do I do?”_

“Accept the charges, obey the restraining order that I plan to file for, sign the divorce papers that I plan to serve you with, plead guilty at your trial, accept whatever form of punishment you get, and if you get time in prison, then self surrender.”

“ _It sounds like you’re talking as my husband.”_

“I’m talking as both. I have a black eye and a split lip plus a bruised up cheek because of you, and my back is pretty bruised from being knocked into the counter. You could’ve damaged my spine if you’d shoved me any harder, so I don’t really know what you expect. If I was speaking as _just_ your husband, I would’ve hung up already. Also, I’m not your lawyer anymore. Let the state appoint one for you.”

And with that, Tyler ends the call, and stares at a spot on his desk for a few minutes before quietly mumbling, “Holy shit,” under his breath.

The rest of his day goes by pretty smoothly. He chats with a few of his coworkers during his lunch break, works on a case or two, then packs his things so he can drive himself to Josh’s apartment.

Josh has his hair in a wig cap, and a full face on when he answers the door, and Tyler snorts out of reflex; he’s not used to this side of Josh. Hell, he hasn’t even seen it before. Josh wolf whistles quietly, saying, “Damn, dude, you look _real good_ in a suit.”

Tyler grins slightly dumbly before he’s invited inside. Once the door is shut behind him, he plops onto the floor, and takes his shoes and socks off, before peeling his blazer and tie off, unbuttoning the three top buttons, plus the cuffs, on his button-up shirt. He sets his shoes by the front door, before taking his socks, blazer, and tie to the guest bedroom where his suitcase resides.

Once he’s back in Josh’s living room, he sits on the floor next to where the man continues to work on his face. “Why do you do drag?” He asks quietly.

“It’s fun, and I look pretty great. Got a job that involves me being in drag anyways.”

“What sort of job?” Tyler asks, curiously, as he tries to get comfortable.

“Just… things, I guess. I perform, and act, and lip sync at a gay bar, and just kind of dick around in general for tips. Usually pull in two hundred to three hundred per night, three times a week.”

“Sounds fun.”

Josh nods gently as he works on gluing down his eyebrows with precision. “I have bath bombs in the drawer near the door in my bathroom, if you want to take a bath or something. You could, just… Relax. Might help. I like taking baths when I’m stressed.”

Tyler nods this time. “I’ll keep that in mind. My back hurts like a bitch.”

“Did you take the painkillers that the doctor at the hospital prescribed?”

Tyler nods. “This morning. Hey, am I allowed to be sad…? Like, I’m just… I’m kind of sad about losing the life I had.”

“Ty, you’ve got every right. It fucking sucks losing stability, trust me. I’m here for ya, though. At least for the next two hours. Got work.”

“What’s your drag name?” Tyler asks, curiously, as he continues to watch Josh.

“I’d raise an eyebrow but I’m trying to like… not move my face. Axis Powers.”

“ _Axis Powers?”_

“Mom’s, like, half German and a fourth Italian, and my dad’s half Japanese. Axis Powers.”

Tyler cackles a little bit, and they sit there in a comfortable silence while Josh continues to work on his face before Tyler asks, “Can we, like, talk whenever you get home?”

“Prefer to talk now, if we have to. I’m going to be tired and you should be asleep by the time I get back here anyways,” Josh responds, smoothly. Tyler feels a little intimidated by him and the air of dominance he has about him.

“It’s, like… personal stuff.”

“How personal? Like, you having a deep conversation with me personal or asking for more advice on the Jenna situation?”

“Both, and gay stuff.”

“Specify gay stuff,” Josh says as he rifles through a make up bag, pulling out some lip liner and matching lipstick.

“What do I do? Find a boyfriend or something now?”

“No, don’t go finding a boyfriend. Wait until you’re divorced, and wait until you have a better handle on yourself before you start trying to get back into dating.” Josh says the last half of that weirdly, considering he’s stretching his lips, trying to be as accurate as possible with lip liner.

“And what about my parents? What do I tell them? They’re going to find out about what’s going on eventually, and I’d feel bad if I kept something like being gay from them as well.”

Josh rolls his eyes and mutters, “Fucking businessmen,” under his breath. “All of you want things done _now now now. Please_ take my advice, and give yourself time. You don’t have to do everything right now. I think your first priority should just be focusing on yourself and probably your mental plus physical health issues. Come out to your parents when you’re ready. You don’t have to tell them about the specifics of why you’re getting divorced, though. You could just say shit wasn’t working out like you thought it would.”

Tyler nods, a thoughtfully grim look settling onto his face.

Things go by feeling kind of like the calm before the storm for the next few days until Tyler gets a call during the evening on Thursday from his mother. He answers it without really thinking, figuring she just wants to chat or something, and he’s in the middle of taking a swig from a bottle of beer when she busts out the accusatory _mom_ tone, saying, _“Would you like to explain why your wife just called me and asked for your father and I to post bail?”_

Tyler gets out an, “Um,” before he’s quickly peeling the back off of his phone and taking the battery out since it takes too long to turn the screen on to end the call. He puts the battery back in, and doesn’t turn his phone back on as he places it on Josh’s coffee table.

Josh gives him a weird look before he’s eventually asking, “What was that about?”

“My mom called,” Tyler says quietly as he stares at a spot on the floor between the coffee table and the TV. “She called my fucking mom and asked my parents to post bail. She could’ve asked her own parents but she called _mine._ She did it on purpose and now they _know.”_

Josh sighs and frowns as he gently takes Tyler’s hand and holds it. “I’d hug you but, uh… your back.”

Tyler doesn’t say anything, but squeezes Josh’s hand back. His head is buzzing and he feels as if there’s some sort of pressure in his head, which usually happens if he’s close to having a panic attack, meaning he’s probably about to have a panic attack. He says as much too in an eerily calm and quiet voice. “I think I’m about to have a panic attack.”

“Uh,” Josh says, dumbly. “Can I do anything to, like… prevent that?”

Tyler shakes his head as his chin and lip start quivering, and he lets Josh pull him onto his lap as he starts descending in what he’d like to call Hell. Josh is big and Tyler’s small and that’s the only reason things work out when Tyler’s sitting smack dab in the middle of Josh’s lap, crying and hyperventilating into his shoulder.

Josh shushes him, and rubs his upper back gently, careful not to go any further down than his waist. Tyler’s mind is going too fast, causing him to eventually shakily ask Josh if he can touch his hair. Josh gives him permission, and asks why, and all Tyler says is, “Need something to focus on. Too much in my head all at once.”

Josh understands completely, knowing that sometimes being affectionate with someone helps even him, and that Tyler isn’t an exception. Tyler’s calm enough to where he’s not hyperventilating so bad and to where his mind is going slow enough for him to formulate a thought that sticks with him for more than a few seconds, so that’s when he says, “I didn’t want my parents knowing yet because I just wanted time to get my ducks in a row.”

Josh nods. “Wasn’t really her place to tell them, but maybe if you tried explaining…?”

“No. They wouldn’t listen. Father’s the kind of guy who would ask me why I didn’t hit back and Mother’s always been hard on me in the first place.”

Josh nods once again. “I won’t push you, man. Anything I can do to help now?”

“Got any pot?” Tyler asks, sarcastically.

“I do, actually,” Josh responds, unexpectedly.

Tyler snorts quietly and adjusts his position in his friend’s lap, forehead still pressed against his shoulder and fingers still gently playing with cotton candy curls. “I have this weird need to try being funny. Don’t actually want any. One of the other lawyers in my firm would never let me hear the end of it.”

“You are kind of uptight, bro,” Josh comments, laughing when Tyler gently pulls his hair.

Tyler ends up sharing Josh’s bed with him that night, and ends up missing work the next day after he finally turns his phone back on to see forty seven missed calls from his parents and seventeen unread texts that are basically cursing him out, all of which push him over the edge. He _was_ going to go to work, but Josh sleepily stopped him, saying, “Take a personal day.”

Tyler blocks his parents’ numbers and spends the next few weeks in some sort of weird limbo until he has a meeting with his own lawyer to discuss a few things. Tyler knows what he needs to do legally, and he also knows that speaking with his own lawyer would probably benefit him more than if he were to just use his own knowledge of law.

Things are stacked in his favor, and within a month he’s managed to pull enough strings for his divorce to be over and done with. He’s still staying at Josh’s apartment, still feeling unsafe and unwelcome in his own home.

Josh’s apartment is, honestly, the only _safe place_ he actually has. None of his friends know where it’s at, his parents don’t either, and it’s calm. He can watch TV and do his paperwork in peace without anyone really pestering him aside from Josh asking him if he wants something to eat once in a while.

During the holidays that year, Tyler’s a little dejected until Josh suggests that he goes home with him. “My family is nice and it’s too sad to spend Christmas and New Years alone. It’s just two weeks of your time, and you get to, like, have some sweet ass meals courtesy of my mom, plus the company of some nice people.”

It takes a few more minutes of convincing before Tyler agrees, saying it _is_ sort of sad to be alone during the holidays. Josh had grinned at him and given him a hug followed by an excited peck on the cheek. Tyler is a little thrown off by the cheek kiss, but he’s learned that Josh is affectionate as hell, and that he’s used to it by now, especially since he’s practically been living with him for the past few months anyways.

Tyler is a lot thrown off when the woman he assumes is Josh’s mother greets either of them at an airport, saying, “It’s so nice to meet your new boyfriend, Josh,” and Tyler doesn’t manage to get a word in edgewise before he’s basically being whisked away by Josh, a guy who looks damn near identical to him, Josh’s mother, and one of Josh’s friends. Josh does give him an apologetic look, of course.

  



	14. Chapter 14

****You’re not a hateful person, you really aren’t, but you’re, like, ninety percent sure you hate Brendon Urie. He’s just such a fucking douche bag and you can’t stand him. He’s in your biology class and sits next to you. The only times he interacts with you is when there’s a lab or when he needs to copy answers, or on the rare occasion there’s a partner project.

You’re a pretentious hipster and you know it, and you figure that and the fact that he’s on the football team has to do with why you hate him. He’s egotistical, he’s loud, he’s _annoying,_ he talks too much and runs his mouth, and his fucking _nose_ pisses you off. It’s not a bad nose but it’s so obnoxious and _there_ and it _pisses you off._

The building tension between you and the barely older teenager comes to a head on a Wednesday. Okay, not necessarily a head, but you’re forced into another situation to where you’re going to have to spend more time with him than absolutely necessary and you’re just uncomfortable with it.

Your parents and his parents are friends, apparently, and while his parents are over at your house, you’re sent up to your room to hang out with him. (Read as be out of the way and out of mind since adults apparently need alone time even though they knew full-well that having sixteen year old sons required their constant attention.)

Brendon acts different this time. When it comes to doing school or anything school related, he’s loud and obnoxious and annoying and someone you dislike, but now that there’s nothing school related for the two of you to be talking about and for you to be getting annoyed at him over, he’s just quiet and not really paying attention to you or anything in the room besides his phone. The most he even said to you after entering your bedroom was, “Do you have an iPhone charger?” since his phone battery was hovering around seventeen percent.

You watch him curiously from behind your laptop from your place on your bed, just examining him, trying to learn about him. Despite apparently hating him, you do find him interesting. He looks different now than he does at school. His eyes are dull and almost lifeless, and the bags under his eyes are so much more noticeable. You have to wonder what the hell kind of stress the son of a doctor and a successful real estate agent can feel, if it’s even possible. He’s straight, too, which fucking gets you. Like, if he isn’t gay, then why does he look so stressed? You definitely _resent_ him.

His body language doesn’t ooze confidence right now either. Instead of suave confidence like usual, he just screams awkward and insecure and then he’s screaming annoyance when he’s saying, “Quit staring at me,” as he looks up from his phone with a pretty obvious frown on his face.

You turn red and your eyes flick back down to your laptop. You can hear him sigh, and a few more minutes of silence pass by before he asks, “Why don’t you like me? You always glare at me and Josh tells me some of the shit you’ve said about me. I just wanna know what I did, man.”

“How do you know Josh isn’t lying?”

“Because I’m not stupid and he’s too nice to lie to me. Just answer me. It’s been bugging me.” You hear the power button on his phone click, turning the screen off, and you decide to set your laptop aside so you can try to answer him without offending him too much.

“I think you’re a dick and I also think you’re annoying. You’re popular, people like you, except for me, you like popular things, and you’re just some societal drone, identical to all the rest.”

“You came up with that answer awfully fast,” Brendon says with a small sigh. He closes his eyes and presses a palm against his forehead, pulling his knees closer to his chest. “I’ve never even talked to you before,” is what he mumbles next.

You feel kind of bad, but you stick to what you said. “I know I did and I know you haven’t.”

“Why make all those assumptions about me if we’ve never had a proper conversation outside of school, then?”

“I don’t like popular things. I hate pop music, I hate pop culture, I hate celebrities, I hate all the popular kids at school, and anything mainstream. You fall under the popular kids at school category.”

“And you’re a pretentious and pious little hipster who needs to get over himself.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Brendon sighs for the millionth time, not necessarily at you, though, and changes the subject quickly by asking, “Do you have a blanket I could just, like… wrap myself in?”

“Not really, just my duvet. Which I’m using.”

“Can we share it? I’m… cold.” You feel like he’s lying as he says the last word, but you’re not so much of a dick as to deny someone the warmth and comfort a twelve dollar blanket from Walmart can provide.

You lift the corner of the duvet up, and pat the spot next to you. Your discomfort increases tenfold when the shorter boy is seated next to you with almost his entire body covered by the blanket, but you figure that it’s safe to just go back to scrolling through your feed on Tumblr, continuing to ignore his existence.

Brendon comes up to where you're sitting in the cafeteria the day after he was at your house. He looks vaguely upset, and you mentally scoff at him when he asks you if he could sit across from you. You don’t really have any friends, aside from a few people who have different lunch periods than you, and a few that you only know through the internet, meaning the table you’re at is empty, _meaning_ it’d be weird if you told him that, no, he couldn’t sit across from you.

He sets his own tray of food down before he sits, and you’re about to, y’know, ignore him, but he pipes up pretty quickly. “Can we try being friends or something? I don’t want you hating me for no reason.”

“Why do you care what I think?” Comes your snide response followed by a frown.

“I kind of think you’re cool and I’m a people pleaser. Also figured it’d make biology less awkward.”

“You have friends of your own, though.”

“They’re just people I hang out with. I don’t even talk to any of them outside of school, save for Josh,” _Narc,_ “and I definitely won’t care about any of them after I graduate. I don’t have any friends either. Don’t let the bad boy act fool you.”

“Bad boy? Really? You’re the most vanilla looking person I know.” You roll your eyes at him.

The two of you chat, and to you, things feel way too tense, but you still end up exchanging Skype names with him, promising to give him a chance.

You have a hard time talking to people regularly aside from an online friend you met a few years ago, meaning you end up at Brendon’s house for a weekend that you aren’t looking forward to at first. You’re expecting something other than what happens, honestly. Not that anything happens, though.

You find yourself being proved wrong within the first five minutes at his house. He’s a little quiet, seeming almost nervous, when he’s leading you to his bedroom so you can put your overnight bag away, and you can see _why._ The last time you’d gone to his house had been when either of you were freshmen, so, like, a year ago, and it’d been for a project in art class that you ended up doing on your own anyways. At that point, his room was normal. It was boring. There was football paraphernalia everywhere, and the whole place had a muted blue kind of color scheme.

This time it’s so… not that. It’s, like, the opposite of what someone like you would expect from someone like him, or at least from the person you apparently thought he was. There’s a bunch of cacti lining the window in his room, and there’s fairy lights strung above and around the window, not to mention lining the ceiling as well.

“Uh. Wow…”

“See? I can be all sophisticated and hipster-ish too,” He says, obviously nervously as he points to a place next to the vanity in his room. A vanity. He has a vanity in his room. You can see a spot on it where he tried, and failed, to peel the price label off, and given the quality of the baby blue paint on it, you figure it’s secondhand. It looks good, though, and it somehow fits.

“What happened to all of the, like, football stuff…?”

“I hate football, so I got rid of all of it. Except for the awards. My parents have those somewhere, probably in a box in the attic.”

“But you’re the quarterback and you have a varsity jacket.”

“Just because I hate it doesn’t mean I’m not good at it. I just want to fit in, man.” You watch his toes as they squeeze together subtly, and as he moves his foot, barely tugging on the black faux fur on the rug in his room.

That sleepover itself goes fairly well, honestly. You get along with him better than you ever thought you would, and you learn that, hey, Brendon Urie is actually a pretty alright guy. Still not your favorite person in the entire world, but he’s not too bad. He’s kind of weird, though. Well, not weird, you guess, but he spends a lot of time sitting up, wrapped in a blanket, and he wears a lot of over sized sweaters and sweatpants outside of school, which is so _weird._

Like, right now, for example. You’re sitting outside for lunch today, since it’s not too cold, watching him. He’s wearing blue jeans, a simple t-shirt, and his varsity jacket; he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’d wear an off-white sweater and baggy gray sweatpants that did little to nothing to compliment his body. The fashionista inside of you really hates him for being so two sided.

Things come to another ‘head’ on a Saturday, probably a month or two after he’d gone to _your_ house that one time. You’d consider him a casual friend, and you don’t _hate_ him anymore, but you still don’t like him. Either way, you’re doing your thing—staying up all night, watching stupid shows on Netflix, since you’re that kind of guy, when you see your phone screen light up with a notification from Skype, saying, _‘space guy is calling you.’_

Brendon has himself named ‘space guy’ for whatever reason, and you quit questioning it pretty quickly. (He likes space, and you don’t care enough to tease him over it.) You answer the call, saying, “Dude, it’s like two in the morning.”

_“You don’t sound like you’re sleeping, so I’m not apologizing. Um. Are you gay…?”_

“No. I’m not straight either, though. Any reason for asking, other than to out me and ruin my life…?”

_“I don’t care if you aren’t straight. Well, I mean, I do, since everyone I know is straight, but, like… I’m having a situation. And I might or might not be outside of your house right now.”_

Okay, he made a liar out of you. You still hate him. You hang up on him, and you put on a pair of socks as to not make any noise on the hardwood while you walk to the front door. Sure enough, he’s standing there, stupid varsity jacket pulled tight around his small frame, and from what you can see from the street lamp in front of your house, he’s either freezing or upset. Or both.

You want to tell him to leave, but you don’t see his car, so you assume he walked, and since it’s cold, you really aren’t going to make him leave, at least until your parents get up and ask you why the hell he’s in your room. You motion for him to follow you through the house, after taking his shoes off. Hardwood is hard to sneak around on. You wish your house was carpeted.

“I had sex and it was gross and I felt like throwing up the whole time and I still do, even right now,” Is what Brendon mumbles out quickly once he’s made himself at home, your duvet wrapped around him.

“Uh. Was it consensual…?”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course it was. I was too embarrassed to stop, though, so I just… finished, then left. My girlfriend is going to be so mad at me tomorrow. I was supposed to spend the night.” He looks sad, and you want to hug him a bit. “Like, if this is what sex with girls is like, then, like… Am I gay? Do you know?”

“I can’t decide that for you, man, but, as someone who has done the deed with a few people, wanting to vomit isn’t normal. I’m such a guy, but honestly, so long as I got my dick in something tight and wet, I’m great. And also emotional connections and consent and all that jazz, but you get what I mean.”

“I mean, it _felt_ good, but I just… I dunno what’s wrong with me. I feel like scrubbing all my skin off or something.”

“Why are you here, man?”

“I think you’re the only person who doesn’t know me that well and who won’t make fun of me if I talk about this stuff?” He tries with a small shrug.

“Are you asexual or something…?”

“No. I love my girlfriend and I’ve had crushes on people. Lots of people.”

“That’s not what I asked. Sexual and romantic feelings are two wildly different things, bro.”

“What’s the difference?” He’s frowning, obviously not understanding, so you rack your insomniac mind, trying to find a way to explain.

“I’m horrible at explaining this stuff, but, like… For me and from what I hear, romantic feelings are like… When you _love_ someone. I mean, I looked at the girlfriend I had last year, and I was like, wow, alright, I love her. It’s like… affection, y’know? Do you feel that kind of thing?”

He nods. “Yeah, I feel that stuff.”

“Alright. Sexual feelings. Uh. The only way I’ve seen that described accurately that makes sense to me is… Do you ever look at someone and think, “I want to fuck you,” because, damn, they’re hot?”

“No, but I’m also sixt—”

“Who gives a shit about your age? If you feel a certain way, then you do. Sexuality is fluid. Point is, do you look at someone and want to fuck them? Yes or no?”

“No. I’ve honestly never looked at anyone and just _thought_ that.”

“Alright. C’mere,” You motion for Brendon to scoot towards you so you can show him an orientation chart. It’s not the most accurate one, but it’s simple, and not an information overload. “Do you read any of these then, like… You’re all like, “Oh, that’s me?” Because I do that with the pan section. Like, for me, at least, gender never really comes into the equation if I got a crush. I just like people.”

He nods, and takes your phone from you so he can read. He points at _asexual I_ then _panromantic._ “Those two. What if I ever, like… have sex with anyone else though? Would that change everything?”

“You’re asexual, not celibate. Sex is fuckin’ great, dude. You don’t have to have it, but, like, you don’t have to abstain just because you feel like you aren’t valid or whatever.”

“How do you know about all this stuff?”

“I have a lot of queer friends and I’m queer too.”

He nods weakly and hands you your phone back, and you stiffen when he leans on you, head resting on your shoulder. “This feels like such a textbook way to find out about this stuff, but, like… everything makes sense now.”

“There’s a lot of other stuff that has to do with sexuality too, by the way, but, like… You gotta figure that out for yourself. I can totally give you resources, though, and you can talk to me about this stuff if ya want.”

“Y’know, Dallon, you’re an asshole, but, like… you’re also _not_ an asshole.”

You nudge him. “Shut up.”

Brendon has a problem. He’s a baby queer. You’re, like, a beta queer, and you’re pretty sure the alpha queer would probably be Tyler Joseph. That dude intimidates the shit out of you, and as a queer, you feel real inferior next to him. Point is, though, Brendon doesn’t get that you shouldn’t come out, like, two days after realizing that you’re insert sexuality here, and that’s why he’s dragging you to a secluded area, saying that his girlfriend threatened to break up with him and out him if he didn’t take it back.

He’s also got a problem of not putting his own well being before other people when he has to, which you figure out after he _doesn’t_ break up with his girlfriend when you tell him to. He’s inexperienced, and _she’s_ his first girlfriend, so you get where he’s coming from, but you tell him that, if he loves himself, he’s going to do what’s best and break up with her.

He just tells you off, though, all defensive and you just give him a sad little look. You don’t protest, though, because this is something he has to go through on his own, and it’s not your place to force him to do something he doesn’t want to do, because it’d just drive him away.

Not that you care.

You chat with him in Biology a bit and you wave to him in the cafeteria and sometimes you ask him how he’s doing on Skype over the course of yet another month, because for whatever reason, you’re worried about him. You are.

You figured he was just mad at you for suggesting he break up with his girlfriend, but like every fanfic for whichever TV show you’re obsessing over at any given moment that you've read, things pan out so predictably that it, literally, kills you. (Okay, definitely not literally, since you’re alive to tell this, but on the inside you were totally rotting.)

Your parents like him, so of course when he knocks, they let him in and tell him to go up to your room, thoroughly surprising you, since neither of you had any plans to hang out that day. He knocks once before coming in, and you're half expecting your mom, but, nope, it's not her. Obviously.

Brendon doesn't say anything to you as he seats himself on the floor in front of your closet while he proceeds to remove his shoes, pants, jacket, and shirt, in that order.

You ask him what the hell he's doing, and he shushes you as he stands up, looking into your closet, and rifling through your clothes. He pulls out a t-shirt that's big, even on you, meaning his small ass is going to drown in it. You figure that, one day, he might grow, but, right now, he's ridiculously small. Though, you're already pushing six feet, and you're the same age as him.

You're right about the shirt; it looks like someone draped a bed sheet on him, and you're glad he has underwear on, since the damn thing stretches down to the middle of his thighs. After he's on your bed, wrapped into a burrito with your duvet, you raise your voice and slowly ask, "Why... Are... You... _Here_?"

"Got my car taken away and your house was closest and also your parents like me."

"You live like two miles away!"

"Took me an hour to get here. I ain't leavin'."

You sigh in defeat and roll your desk chair across the floor in the room until you're next to your bed. "You didn't really answer me. Why are you here?"

"Reasons. Things. Stuff. Y'know." You see him shrug, and you can hear that his voice is a little strained.

"Did something happen...? If something happened you can tell me."

He shrugs again, and the duvet opens up for a minute so he can pat the place next to him on the bed, causing you to crawl across it to sit next to him. You let him somehow manage to manhandle _you_ into a position that's comfortable for him to curl up into your side while also being able to talk to you without raising his voice above anything much more than a whisper.

"The past month has been really shitty. Y'know how I told my girlfriend how I thought I was asexual?"

You nod and, without really thinking, you hug him as best as you can without disrupting the position the two of you were already in.

"She said she could fix me."

"You don't need fixing, though...?"

"Gee, you're observant, and water is wet," Brendon basically snaps back at you, causing you to wince slightly. "She's been basically forcing me to have sex with her, then got mad at _me_ when I said things hadn't changed."

You freeze in your spot. Which isn't saying much, of course, considering you hadn't really been moving in the first place, but still; you tense up. "That's, like... not good. Have you, uh... told anyone else?"

"She's too small for anyone to believe me, man," He says weakly. You're livid right now, and you sorta wish he would've taken your advice to break up with her. "I already broke up with her anyways. She tried getting me to do it again and I was already having a bad day and I didn't need to feel even more disgusting so I told her we were, like, done."

"You were done when she threatened to out you to everyone, dude. Why come to me, though? You have other friends who aren't me. Other friends who probably know better ways to help."

"I told you that my friends are the football team. They're all mean and sex crazy. We're supposed to want _it_ more than anything or whatever. I'd tell, like, Josh or whatever, but he'd tell his boyfriend, and his boyfriend loves to gossip, so then everyone would know. Also, like I said, your house is closest. And you don't have friends to gossip with or whatever."

"This isn't the kind of thing you'd gossip about. I mean, I'd gossip about you flagging mid-way because that'd be hella awkward, but not about _this."_

"Flagging?"

"It's like when you lose your boner while doing it. Which is a thing. Unfortunately."

"Oh. Can we, just, like... hang out...? And not talk about this...? I just had to tell someone, and now I have, so I just wanna pretend like I don't hate myself and, like... yeah."

Brendon goes home in the morning, in his own clothes, and a few days later you start to wonder if he has some weird fetish, or, well, not fetish, but some sort of _thing_ for wearing your clothes, because during passing, he walks up to you and where you're standing, pulling books out of your locker, and asks, "Do you have a shirt or something I could borrow?"

You look down at him. "What's wrong with yours?"

"It's too tight and... I dunno."

"I feel like you _do_ know," You comment.

"I feel like I'm suffocating in a way," he answers, finally, voice hushed.

You sigh and hand your notebook, pencil bag, and geometry textbook to him so you can look at the two shirts and sweatshirt you keep in your locker in case of an emergency. You end up handing him the sweatshirt, which isn't an interesting one, honestly. It's big, it's gray, and it's warm--that's why it's in your locker. It's practical. "Does this work?"

"Yeah, man, it does. Uh. I'll--I'll trade you my shirt and jacket as, like, collateral or whatever. Is that cool?"

You nod, and you snort softly at how he just peels his shirt off in the middle of the hallway before putting your sweatshirt on. You take his shirt and his jacket from him when they're handed to you, and place them neatly at the bottom of your locker with the other two shirts.

On top of being intimidating as shit, what with being the alpha queer, Tyler Joseph is also the most insufferable person you've met. Actually, that's not true, since Brendon tends to be the most insufferable, but you still find yourself groaning internally when the aforementioned alpha queer plops down next to you after he gets onto the bus, saying, "Damn, Daddy Dallon, you're looking _fine,"_ with a smirk and a slightly predatory look thrown your way.

"Thank you, son," You reply, bleakly.

"Yeah, whatever--what's going on with you and Urie?"

"We're _friends."_

"Really? Two months ago you hated him, now he's wearing your shirts and sweatshirts."

"So? It's none of your business."

Tyler scoffs and rolls his eyes. "It is when my boyfriend's best friend is apparently my best friend's boyfriend."

"He's not my _boyfriend,_ you asshole. I said _friends._ I don't even like him like that anyways. Also, since when am I your best friend?"

"Since I want information out of you. And also since you gave me forty dollars to buy a chest binder with." Tyler smiles at you awkwardly and gives you two thumbs up.

"I don't have any information, little dude."

He continues badgering you, and when Josh's stop comes up, the other teen finds himself being, literally, yanked roughly into the seat you're sharing with Tyler, which makes it an even tighter fit. "Josh, they are insisting that there's nothing going on with Urie."

You roll your eyes hard enough to give you a headache.

"Brendon says there isn't anything going on either, babe. It's between the two of them."

 _"Thank you,_ Josh. Keep your man under control."

Brendon's at your house almost constantly for whatever reason, and you've learned to quit questioning it when he starts getting off at your bus stop with you and following you home. Your parents have also learned to quit questioning it too.

He borrows your clothes (or shirts, rather, since your pants are far too big), only returning them whenever he finds clothes of his own to wear at his own house, or whenever he changes at yours.

Brendon's super affectionate. Not all of the time, but when he is, you turn into a blushing mess and you wish he didn't make you feel like that. When he's at your house, the two of you tend to watch weird TV shows on the TV in your room, and once in a while he reaches over and holds your hand. The first time he does it, it's not on purpose, and you ask him about it. "Why are you holding my hand?"

He yanks his hand away and apologizes. "I'm so sorry. Sometimes I just... sometimes it's nice to have a little contact with someone. I'm so sorry--it was just a reflex."

You feel a little bad for him, so you reach over again and grab his hand. "That's fine. I understand that."

Brendon invites you over to his house and tells you to bring Tyler with you. You're not sure why Tyler is necessary, but you don't question him.

"Why do you think Brendon wants both of us there?" Tyler's asking the second you're at his house to pick him up. (You got your license recently.)

"No idea," you reply. It's the truth. You have no clue why he wants _both_ of you there.

Brendon's wearing an oversized _pink_ sweater and a pair of white leggings when you and Tyler show up at his house. Tyler's eyebrows are raised so high up that they could be in orbit as soon as he gets a look at the short boy.

Once sitting in Brendon's room, you in your usual place in the corner of the bed, and Tyler sitting in the chair in front of the vanity, Brendon nervously starts talking. "Tyler, I was looking at your Instagram and I saw you were really, _really_ good with make up and I was sort of wondering if you'd like... do mine...?"

Brendon looks so embarrassed and insecure and you wish your first reflex wasn't to walk over and to hug him. (You don't hug him, but you want to.)

Tyler looks surprised but Tyler's also really nice, and just says, "Yeah, I'd be down for that. What sort of look were you wanting to go for...?"

Brendon pulls up a few pictures on his phone, and both you and Tyler crowd around him to look. The first one is someone with burgundy lipstick on and with, like... a smokey eye. You're not cis but it doesn't mean you know what makeup looks are called. He also shows Tyler a bunch of different eyebrows and Tyler stops him eventually, saying, "I think I know what you want, man. Do you happen to have any makeup?"

Brendon rolls his desk chair over to the vanity, and opens the biggest drawer. Inside, it's filled with makeup, and your eyes go wide, because, holy shit. "Whenever I have money I usually go to the mall and buy make up at those make up stores. It's kinda... stupid. I guess. I dunno. I practice but I'm still not good and I just wanted to know what I'd look like if I _was_ good." He's rambling on a little too much and Tyler hushes him.

"It's okay, Brendon." Tyler looks through the drawer and pulls out a bunch of stuff. "Why do you want to wear make up?"

"I like how it makes me look and feel, I guess."

Tyler nods and doesn't say anything else as he picks up a tube of orange lipstick.

"I said burgundy--"

"You have stubble," Tyler says with a roll of his eyes.

It takes a good hour before Tyler's finished. Brendon doesn't look in the mirror first, instead turning to look at you to ask, "How do I look?"

If you're honest, he looks great. "You look great." He looks really pretty and beautiful too, but you don't actually say that.

Tyler tells him he looks fucking fabulous.

Brendon turns around in his desk chair and you swear he spends an eon just staring at himself.

"So? Did I do a good job? Is that what you wanted?"

And then he starts tearing up.

You've mostly been sitting out of the way, since you don't have too much to contribute, but when you see the first tear fall you're sliding off of the bed and walking over to where he and Tyler are at. "Hey, what's wrong, man? You look really great." You rub his back a little bit.

He just shakes his head and presses his palms to his eyes. You and Tyler kind of just sit there, not sure on what to do after he grabs the pack of make up wipes he'd bought at some point, and leaves the room, saying he's going to shower.

Tyler speaks first. "Ten bucks says he's trans."

You nudge Tyler. "Invasive much?"

"I'm just saying. I had a panic attack when I realized I was trans, and I was crying when I put on my chest binder for the first time, _plus_ I cried when I cut all my hair off. I seriously wouldn't be surprised if he's trans. Like, instead of him crying at cutting all his hair off, it's him crying because he looks pretty." Tyler's keeping his voice down, and he just looks so concerned that it's... sorta weird. The way he's phrasing his words, he sounds like he's taking all of this lightly, but he's not. Tyler's a good person and you admire him.

 

You take Tyler home before his curfew, and then you're back over at Brendon's house again. When you'd left, he'd been looking at something on his phone, but when you get back, he's under three blankets, and curled into a ball. You can see the top of his hair poking out, and you pull on it a little bit. Not enough to hurt, but enough to get his attention. He looks at you and his eyes are all red and bloodshot and wet and his face is splotchy and sticky looking and your heart breaks a little bit. "Hey, man, what's wrong?" You frown a little bit and you let him grab your hand and tug you into the bed next to him.

It's a little hot (a lot hot) under three blankets with another person, but he's, like, super upset for some reason, so you don't complain or say anything. You just let him... do whatever. "Brendon, buddy, what's wrong?"

He blubbers out, "I don't _know!"_  and his small hands are gripping your t-shirt.

"Okay, okay, that's alright." You're speaking in that one voice everyone uses when they're trying not to upset someone. You don't know if it's helping, but you're trying not to startle him or something. Brendon's really delicate and sensitive, you've noticed. He has you pushed onto your back, and you're petting his hair. He doesn't really like to be touched on his back, or you'd probably be rubbing his back.

 

Summer break happens and the first day of vacation, Brendon's at your house, like, really early, waking you up. Your parents are always up super early, and he knows this, so he was able to get away with showing up. You almost sock him in the jaw when he shakes you awake, mostly just from being startled.

“Why are you here so early?” You whine as you close your eyes again and frown, pulling your duvet around yourself.

Brendon doesn’t say anything, but you hear him moving around, and the next thing you know he’s lying in front of you and you’re spooning him. You can feel the bare skin of his legs against yours, so you figure he, like, took his pants off. “This is kind of gay, bro,” you mumble quietly.

He elbows you. “Can I talk to you?”

You sigh silently. You _just_ woke up. Why is he like this? “You have my attention, so go for it, I suppose.”

“My mom wants to go to Hawaii for vacation, since most of her family lives there, but she wanted me to get a haircut before we went, and, like… I _really_ don’t want a haircut. I don’t know why. Like, I got all… sick to my stomach when she said that, so I walked here. Do you know what that means?”

“That you really like your hair and that your mom shouldn’t be telling you how to wear it,” comes your quiet, dry response. You’re still spooning him, and you’re sort of letting yourself get comfortable.

“It’s _different_ than that. If it was just that, I would’ve just told her _‘no.’_ I always say no when I don’t want to do something, but I couldn’t do that this time, and I don’t know why. You always know about stuff like this and I trust you, so I don’t know…”

“Why do you like your hair long?” _If Tyler was right, I’m going to be real fuckin’ impressed with him._

“It’s stupid,” he mumbles.

“I can guarantee that it’s probably not stupid, Brendon.”

“I like that I look… I dunno… pretty.” His hair isn’t, like that long right now. It’s a little below his ears and if he straightened it, his bangs would probably hit the bottom of his nose. “I mean, I’m not Kylie Jenner or anything, or--or a girl,” _Tyler’s really smart, holy shit,_ “but I just… I don’t look all masculine and _butch.”_

“It’d be cool with me if you were a girl,” you’re, y’know, mumbling. You’re too tired to use your speaking voice. “I mean, I’m not a boy.” He knows you’re queer, but you never told him that you weren’t, like, cis. “I’m not a girl either, though.” You don’t label yourself, honestly. You usually just say that you’re genderfluid and leave it at that since that’s what comes closest to how you feel.

“You can’t be neither. You have to be one or the other.” Brendon sounds confused and not malicious. You’ve learned what his tones mean, and this is his ‘I’m confused and I need you to explain to me’ tone.

“Yeah I can. Imagine one of those block toys where you have to push the blocks through holes. ‘Male’ is a star shaped block, ‘female’ is a circle shaped block, and I’m a triangle shaped block. I don’t fit into either of those holes, unless male was, like, The Star of David or something.” You’re waking up a little more and you’re speaking more steady.

“How would I know if I wasn’t, like… a boy?”

“Think of ‘male’ and what it means to you, and whether or not you identify with it. You can do the same with ‘female.’ Think of what being a girl means to you, and whether or not you identify with it. That what I did when I was starting to figure this stuff out for myself.”

Brendon goes silent and you figure he’s thinking about it. You rub your thumb across his, since you have one of your hands over one of his. A lot of your, like, _moments_ with Brendon happen in a bed, which you do find odd, but you don’t question it.

Eventually he says, “Do I have to do it today?”

“Of course not, buddy. You don’t have to do shit if you don’t want to. I mean, personally, I’d recommend thinking about it at some point, but do it at your own pace. Whatever happens, though, I promise I’ll still be your friend and accept you unconditionally, alright?”

 

Brendon never gets that hair cut, and you’re happy for him. He really likes his hair, alright? You’re glad his mom didn’t make him cut it off. He’s in Hawaii from the middle of June to the end of July and the week before he comes home he comes out to you via a very long and heartfelt note that he ended up having to send to you via email instead of Skype, since mobile Skype is stupid and likes to cut off messages.

(You sort of want to smack him upside the head after reading how he greets you in the first line of his note.)

 

_Dear Daddy Dallon,_

_Okay, I know you already, like, love me unconditionally and all that jazz (platonically) but does that stop me from being scared from telling you about this? Nope, it does not stop me in the slightest._

_You’re, like, super duper important to me, and I don’t know if it’s weird, but I consider you my best friend because you’re really nice to me, you listen to me, you help me with my problems a lot, and I trust you so much. I haven’t had a friend like that before, so that’s like, really important to me--having something like that in my life._

_This sounds like a textbook, but when I was little, I always had this unsettling feeling really deep in my gut, and I felt like I wasn’t who I was supposed to be. The feeling went by mostly unnoticed until I was fourteen or so, which is around the time I met you for the first time, and around the time I started getting rid of all of my football stuff._

_Getting rid of my football stuff kind of symbolized something to me, in a way. I mean, if you look at me, it’s obvious I compensate for_ something, _and football was that thing I used. Getting rid of that brought that weird feeling back to light, and needless to say, I wasn’t particularly pleased with it._

_I don’t know what my sexuality is, because I don’t necessarily think I’m asexual, but I also don’t know that I’m not, because I can’t tell that if the reason I don’t want to have sex with people is because I hate myself and my body so much, or if it’s something else._

_Anyways, though, I thought that I would be completely satisfied and happy with myself once I had a label for my sexuality/romantic orientation but no, I can’t have nice things. That was not the case. The thing with the girlfriend happened, for one thing, and then the thing where Tyler did my make up and I had three panic attacks the same night happened._

_When you asked me what was wrong that night, I said, “I don’t know,” because at the time I really didn’t but a few weeks after that I realized that I was freaking out because I don’t want to be like this. I_ want _to be comfortable in my own body, I_ want _to love myself, I_ want _to be normal, but I’m not._

 _I don’t like that I have a strong jawline, I don’t like my stubble, I don’t like my shoulders and how they’re all broad and gross, I don’t like the way there’s_ muscle _everywhere on my body, I don’t like my tiny hips, I don’t like all my stupid body hair, I don’t like my stupid voice because it’s so deep. I wish I was, like, the opposite of all of that, you know? I want a nice, dainty face, I want to practically be bald everywhere except for my head, I want slender and meek shoulders, I want a feminine and curvy body, and I want one of those divine and gracious and feminine voices._

_I want to cut this off before I write you a five hundred page novel, but, to answer your question, I’m, like, 99.9% sure that I am a girl. I don’t have another name, and I haven’t found one that I like yet, but maybe referring to me as a girl would be super great and I would love you forever if you did that._

_-your buddy._

_(PS: You can still call me Brendon. Also, like, pretend like this isn’t a thing in front of my parents and basically everyone else until either more people know or unless I say something.)_

_(PPS: Also, I work at a really fast pace so sorry if this all seems out of nowhere. Thanks?)_

 

You end up reading the email four or five more times before you send a response to her.

 

_Dear Little Lady Who Needs to Stop Calling Me Daddy,_

_You’re my best friend too. It’s cool that you’re a girl. It just means my life is no longer a sausage fest. (Tyler, Josh, Spencer, etc… So much sausage.)_

_On a serious note, you’re also super important to me, and I am 100% on your side and I am 100% here for you and I 100% support you, enthusiastically and unconditionally._

_-dal_

 

Brendon shows up at your house almost the second she’s back from Hawaii. Okay, more like the day after, but still. You’re on your back on the floor in your bedroom, looking through a thread on Twitter about drama between a few big accounts in a fandom you’re sort of but not really in, when she’s busting into your room, and groaning loudly before pulling the usual routine of stealing one of your shirts.

“Why are you on the floor?” You’re being asked once Brendon’s finished putting on one of your shirts.

“Reading something,” you mumble quietly.

“What are you reading?” Brendon’s now next to you on the floor, wedging herself between your arm and your side so she can have a good view of your phone.

“Two big accounts got into a fight and someone posted a thread dragging both of them on Twitter,” you reply easily.

“What was the fight about?”

“This one musician got his hair dyed a weird color and people read into it too much and it just… is a mess. I seriously don’t know how to explain it. Both of them are fifteen, mind you.”

“Dude, you’re barely seventeen.”

“I stand by my statement.”

“I told Tyler about the thing,” Brendon’s mumbling quietly.

“Yeah? What’d he say?” You turn your phone screen off to look Brendon in the eye.

“He said that, uh… If I wanted he’d be willing to part with some of his old clothes, since we’re about the same size. I probably won’t ever get a chance to wear them, but… I dunno.”

“Take him up on the offer if you want. It’s not like _he’s_ going to wear them.”

 

“How do you even know how to do this?” Brendon’s asking as she watches Tyler, who is doing her nails.

“I’m eighteen, right?” Tyler looks to you.

You think for a moment. “I think? You graduated this year, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yeah.”

“Don’t smoke weed, Brendon. Shit fucks you up.” You snort. Too late for that. “Anyways, I’ve got _plenty of time_ pretending to be a girl under my belt, and it’s not like my family has tons of money, so I always did my own nails.”

Tyler’s doing this, like, matte black color that fades into a glittery gold kind of color, and it looks so cool. You’re pretty sure it’s called an ombre. “What if my parents make me take the nails off?”

“Then they do, but you’ll at least have a few hours to enjoy them.” Tyler smiles sweetly and Brendon bites her lip and nods.

It takes, like, ten years for them to finish the nails, at least to you, but when Brendon’s showing them off, you’re saying, “Bren, you’re gonna make some lucky fucker a _great_ wife one day,” which draws a giggle from her. “Those are fucking awesome.”

Tyler raises his eyebrows and speaks up. “The two of you _still_ aren’t together?”

Either of you say, _“No,”_ way too quickly, and in unison, and _way_ too defensively.

Brendon says, “I don’t like him--them, sorry--like that.”

You say, “Ditto.” You’re lying, but you don’t know if Brendon is. You’re not sure when you developed your little crush, but you _did,_ and you hate it. You don’t know how you went from hating every fibre of her being to probably being in love with her. Okay, not, like, _in love,_ but you genuinely do like her.

Tyler, at least, knows that _you’re_ lying, if the look on his face has anything to say.

 

Brendon gets a night home alone, so you get invited over, of course. As soon as you’re in her house, there’s a fucking _leg_ waxing kit being stuffed into your hands, only with the explanation of, “I’m too much of a wuss to do it myself.”

“You invited me over to wax your legs?”

“Well, yeah. We’re best friends and part of being best friends is getting up close and personal with each other’s legs without it being weird.”

You roll your eyes and you trail her up the stairs and into the bathroom. She peels her basketball shorts off, and sits on the counter, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap. Brendon’s legs aren’t, like, _that_ hairy, but they aren’t bald either.

You read the directions on the box of the leg waxing kit a few times, and just before you’re about to pull one of the waxing strips from her legs, she grabs your wrist, and you spiritually sigh. “Dude, I can’t wax your legs if you won’t let me.”

“I’m scared. It’s gonna hurt.”

“I mean, I am about to be ripping hair out of your leg with wax strips…? It’s not supposed to feel good, unless you’re, like… into that.”

You go back and forth with her for a while before you get an idea. It’s probably a bit of a dick move, but you lean forward, and crash your lips against Brendon’s, and while she’s still trying to process what you’d just done, you rip the wax strip off.

“Dallon, you fucker! That wasn’t fair!”

“You spent five minutes arguing with me! At least we have, like, at least a twentieth of your leg waxed now.”

Brendon takes a minute to mentally prepare herself before you rip another wax strip off, and it gets easier and quicker from there on out.

Eventually you ask, “Why do you want your legs waxed?”

“Dysphoria. They’ve been bugging me lately and I just want to see if waxing them will help.”

You nod. You get that. “Is it helping?” You’re starting on her other leg now.

“A little bit, I think. We’ll see, I guess.” Brendon yelps quietly as you’re ripping off another wax strip, and like you have every other time you’ve ripped one off, you sooth one of your hands over the area. You have no idea if it’s helping, but you feel bad. “Hey, you deal with the dysphoria thing--how do you have sex?”

“Put my dick in and move,” you mumble as you’re smoothing another wax strip down.

Brendon gets you in the side with her leg. “I want a real answer, you smart ass.”

“It just depends on how I feel, I guess—” _rip,_ “--because sometimes I want to curl up into a ball and die, but other times I’m totally ready to get it _on._ I just try to rationalize things, because I can’t suddenly change my body. My only problem is that I’m _fluid,_ and some days I feel more feminine than I do masculine, but other days I’m, like, the manliest man to ever man, then there’s days I’m just… in between, I guess.

“A lot of people like to think of sex as this _physical_ thing, and--and there’s different kinds of sex, too. Penetrative sex isn’t the only kind of sex there is. I haven’t exactly gotten around or anything, because I’ve only had a few girlfriends and a boyfriend before, but for me, at least, sex is kind of just… emotional. I’m not saying it’s bad to fuck around and have a lot of sex, but, for me, personally, if I were to be slutting it up all the time, it’d definitely chip away at my self esteem over time. Sex is personal and intimate and it’s not required. Like, if you don’t want to have sex, then don’t. It’s not some rite of passage or some bullshit like that.”

“I think I might not have liked sex because I was doing it with a girl.”

“Elaborate…?”

“Like, okay--um… How do I explain…” She bites one of her lips for a second before speaking, slowly and carefully. “It’s like… I think it was sleeping with a cis person that put me off…? And someone who didn’t _know_ what was going on with me. It was like… Having sex is a thing that the _guys_ do, and… yeah. Do you know what I’m saying?”

You nod, because you do know. “Being treated like a guy? Was that it?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“And you think that if you had sex again, and you were treated like you were a cis girl, then it’d be better?” You quirk an eyebrow up at her.

“Probably. I’d also need someone who’d have to get that if I said stop, or no, then, like, they’d have to _do that.”_

“I hope you find someone like that,” you say. It’s the safe thing to say, even if you really want to say, _“I’d treat you like a princess.”_ That sounds a little too fuckboyish for your tastes, though.

“Me too,” she mumbles. At this point, you’ve _just_ barely peeled the last wax strip from her leg, and you take a minute to admire your handiwork. You did a pretty good job. Brendon’s legs are so _red,_ though.

“Do you got any lotion or something to put on your legs…?”

Brendon nods and you watch her lean to her left to get a jar of coconut oil from a drawer. “I use this on my face, usually.”

You take the jar, and, okay, rubbing coconut oil on your best friend’s legs that you just waxed isn’t as weird as you thought it’d be.

 

“I asked my mom what she would’ve named me if I was a girl, and she said either Malia or Kiana.”

“Yeah?” You look up from your phone and at Brendon.

“Yeah. They’re Hawaiian names. Which one of them sounds better…? I’m, uh, y’know… thinking about using one of them.”

“One of Obama’s daughters is named Malia, so that one is out of the question. Kiana is nice, though. Does it mean anything?”

“It’s the Hawaiian version of Diana. I talked to Tyler, and he dared me to call myself Brenda. Like, no thanks. I would _kill_ myself if I went by _Brenda.”_

You cackle. “Yeah. I’d still talk to you, but you are just… _not_ a Brenda.”

“You’re not wrong. I’ll get back to you when I decide.”

 

You go with Brendon and Tyler when they go _shopping._ Brendon wants to buy at least _one_ outfit that doesn’t consist of Adidas and Wranglers, and you don’t blame her. You’re the kind of person who spent thirty dollars buying fake _boobs_ on freaking _Amazon,_ just because Brendon asked you to, and Tyler’s the kind of person who’s going to spend what little money he already has, plus Brendon’s money, on an outfit that would work for her.

It’s September at this point, and Brendon’s sort of been having a not so great time lately. She’s not on the football team anymore, and told you that she couldn’t deal with being in the locker rooms, which you understand. She’s also been getting bullied, basically, for hanging out with you and Josh. Tyler’s graduated, or you’re sure he’d be there to break a few noses for Brendon.

On top of that, Brendon, _at the least,_ looks _really_ flamboyant. Her hair is more grown out, almost past her shoulders now, and she gets her nails done once a month. Brendon’s parents are cool with the hair and the nails thing--they think she’s going through a phase, and they were (and still are) cool when Brendon started casually wearing light make up, but, of course, not everyone can be accepting, especially teenagers in a school in fucking Las Vegas.

Today, the shopping day, is a _Brendon_ day. You don’t have much feedback to give, but you’re still being dragged into dressing rooms with her. You always turn around, keeping your eyes focused firmly on the wall, only turning again whenever Brendon tugs on your sleeve.

This time, she’s wearing an outfit that looks… well, it looks amazing. The outfit is simple--just a black, sleeveless cocktail dress, tights, and a pair of black wedges. The price tag on the shoes read sixty dollars, and you know Brendon’s going to end up putting them back, but they’re in her size and you saw the _look_ on her face, so you have a feeling in the back of your head that you’re going to crack and end up buying them. (It’s not like you have tons of money, but your parents are wealthy, and you get a one thousand dollar spending limit per quarter.)

“How do I look?”

Okay, you’d be lying if you said your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest right now. Your pulse in your ears is about all you can hear right now and you really can’t stop yourself from saying, “Beautiful. You look like a princess.”

“I look weird,” Brendon mumbles, face red but downcast, as she’s looking in the mirror.

“No you don’t.” Your response is immediate.

“I do. I mean… Look.” Brendon places her hands flat on her chest. “There’s nothing there. It looks weird because I’m flat chested and have small hips.”

“That’s why I bought the things, to help with the chest problem.”

Despite Brendon’s self consciousness, that ends up being the outfit that is bought.

 

Brendon’s parents are at _your_ house, thankfully, which means you, Tyler, and Brendon get Brendon’s house all to yourselves. Tyler does her make up, and you flush red when you’re the one zipping the dress up, as per Brendon’s request. You are drowning in romantic feelings for this girl. Tyler’s also nice enough to take a hair straightener to Brendon’s hair, and he styles it, making Brendon _actually_ look like a princess now.

“Dallon, where’d you buy the fake boobs? They look so fucking _real.”_ Tyler’s eyes are wide, and he’s touching Brendon’s chest, almost nonstop. If the boobs were real, it’d probably be bordering on sexual harassment.

“Amazon,” you answer. “They cost me a pretty penny.”

“Do they at least look good on me?”

“God, yeah. All we need to do now is figure out a way to pad your hips.”

“What do you think?” You’re getting a shy look from her and it makes you melt.

“I think you look beautiful.”

 

You and Brendon skip out on homecoming. Brendon doesn’t go, because if she did, she’d end up in a suit, and you didn’t go because, like, school dances are super boring without your best friend, y’know?

It still ends up being one of the most romantic nights of your life so far, though.

You help Brendon get dressed into the outfit she’d bought a few months prior, the one with the cocktail dress. You’re already in a blazer and slacks, and, if you’re honest, the two of you are, like, a power couple, even though you’re not _with_ her.

The lights in Brendon’s room get turned off, and the only light there actually is comes from the fairy lights in the room. It’s dim, and Brendon’s face is illuminated in shades of blue and purple and she’s so fucking beautiful that it makes your heart hurt.

“Have you ever slow danced before?”

“I had a girlfriend for six months, Dal. Of course I have.”

You roll your eyes and get a song ready to play on your phone. “I mean, have you ever slow danced and _not_ been the one who was leading?”

“Nope.”

“Well,” you press play on the song, smirking when Brendon visibly blushes as _Take My Breath Away_ starts playing from the speakers that are on her desk. “Would you _please_ do me the honors of dancing with me, Miss Urie?”

“You’re a dork,” she’s mumbling as she takes your hand. It’s a little awkward, since either of you are used to leading when it comes to slow dancing, but you get the hang of it. Her forehead is on your shoulder, your hands are on her waist, and her arms are thrown over your shoulders. “I really like you, Dallon.”

“I like you too.”

“I mean that I _like_ you.”

“Like I said; I _like_ you too.” Okay, this can’t be happening. This is unreal. Brendon is _so far_ out of your league. “I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“You must not have seen very many girls,” she mumbles.

“I’ve seen plenty of girls, and you are, by far, the prettiest. I chose this song for a reason, y’know.”

“Ask me to be your girlfriend, Dallon.”

You huff out a quick breath, and you grin a little stupidly. “Would you, perhaps, like to be my girlfriend…?”

Brendon’s arms fall from where they were thrown over your shoulders, and instead wind up wrapping around your torso, and she’s nodding slightly into your shoulder, hugging you tight. “I’d love that.”

 

Brendon accidentally outs herself to her parents sometime around Christmas, a month after homecoming. You’re not there for it, mostly since you were in Sparks for a band competition, but you get a phone call while you’re on the bus back home.

_“Can you talk?”_

“I’m on the bus.” That should be an answer.

_“Can I talk and can you listen, and answer so long as I, like, make it possible for you to answer vaguely?”_

“Yeah, of course you can.” You frown, and pick at a hole in the back of the seat that’s in front of you. Spencer’s sitting next to you, and quirking an eyebrow at you, and you put a finger to your lips, hoping he gets the hint to butt out. (It’s not as if Spencer’s all up in your business all the time like a certain _someone_ (Tyler) is, but he does get curious.)

_“I accidentally outed myself.”_

She doesn’t sound _upset._ “Good or bad?”

_“Um… good. Way better than I expected. I thought they were going to disown me or something. Dad didn’t look too happy, but Mom said she’d call my doctor tomorrow and look into getting a referral to someone who, uh, specializes in this stuff… This is weird.”_

“That’s really good, babe.” You’re grinning. You’re thrilled about this.

 _“I know. I, uh… I dunno. I don’t even know what to_ think. _I mean--I’m gonna get to be a real girl, probably.”_

“You already are.”

_“I know, but… you know. Can I come over when you get home? I need to hug you, and to possibly cuddle while we watch a shitty TV show.”_

“I think that could be arranged, yes.”

_“I love you.”_

That’s the first time she’s said that to you, and given the way she’s hanging up right after, you figure it was a slip.

 

 **Dallon:** u cant just DROP that on me then hang up like at least give me a few seconds to say “i love you too, brendon”

 **Bumble Bee:** suck my dick

 **Dallon:** charming

 **Bumble Bee:** Youre The One Who Asked Me To Be Ur Girlfriend

 **Dallon:** interesting use of you’re and ur

 **Bumble Bee:** mgonna fite u. 1v1. pvp me. 360 no scope.

 **Dallon:** lmfao shut up i love you

 **Bumble Bee:** :^)

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

Suicide is something that's been on your mind since you were _at least_ eleven. You like to think that you're just—you're fucked up. That's what you think. Something in you is just—something's broken, things aren't wired right, and it doesn't make sense. Why _you?_

You're nineteen at the moment, and before now, you've never actually had the nerve, nor have you ever been brave enough to attempt suicide. You don't even know what set you off. Honestly, your day had been normal. You got up, ate a toaster strudel, went to work for ten hours, came home, ordered take-out, ate _again_ and then you just… You couldn't fall asleep.

Being awake at odd hours of the night has never been good for you. Your mind starts to wander. It's too quiet, everyone you know is asleep, and there's nothing to distract you or to stop you from giving into whatever impulses you may or may not have.

You spend the night pacing around your shitty little apartment, thinking, and contemplating your life. You end up in the bathroom at some point. You've never self harmed before, but the razor blades are looking mighty tempting right now, as is the bottle of Xanax sitting in the medicine cabinet.

You make a decision that you decide is dumb the second you've gone through with it. You go to your kitchen, and grab the half empty bottle of vodka you'd had one of your friends buy you, before sauntering back over to the bathroom. Why are you doing this? What's the point of this?

You also argue with yourself by asking what's the point of even _living?_ You haven't had a good life. You really haven't. You grew up being ridiculously sheltered and you were forced into being religious. If you're honest, you still _are_ religious. You question God sometimes, but you still believe in him, and whenever things get especially shitty, you go crawling back to the church to pray.

You got kicked out about eight months ago. You accidentally dropped a comment about liking men, because you spent two weeks around fucking _Brendon,_ and with _him,_ you're used to being able to openly talk about men. You just—you forgot who your parents were, and you ended up having a week to pack your shit and get the hell out.

You've been miserable since then. You have an apartment, and a job that pays alright, but you still never have the money for anything, nor do you have the _time_ to do anything. You're just—you're _done._ Your hands shake as you pop open the bottle of vodka, and they shake a little bit more when you take the cap off of the bottle of Xanax.

One pill washed down with a swig of alcohol turns into two, then three, four, five, ten, maybe more; you're not sure. All you know is that, right before you lost consciousness, you thought to yourself, _'I don't want to die.'_

Something that shocks you even more is that you _wake up._ You remember taking the pills, drinking at least half of the vodka that was left, then thinking about how you didn't want to die, then just… blackness. You didn't dream, you didn't see a light, you didn't see _anything._

You're told that someone you never really talked to all that much had found you. He'd been sent by one of your other friends to either check on you, or to bring you something; you're not sure; the point is, though, he found your spare key when you didn't answer for fifteen minutes, and then he found you passed out in the bathroom with an empty bottle of Xanax and a bottle of fucking _vodka_ in your hand.

You're in a lot of pain when you wake up. You're sore, your head hurts, and you're not really sure what's happening. There's a few doctors and nurses hovering around you, then there's pink hair and a nasty look next to your bed. You're pretty out of it, but you're pretty sure he says your name. Jesus—you can't really even remember his name right now.

You'd seen him at a few parties, and around school a few times before he graduated, but you never got to know him. You knew his name started with a 'j,' though. Jeremiah? Jack? Joe? Joseph—wait, no, that's _your_ name. John? You think for a minute or two more before coming up with the name _Josh,_ and suddenly realizing that, yep, this is Joshua fucking Dun standing next to your hospital bed, trying not to raise his voice at you.

“Just—look—you don't have to tell me, but what the _hell?”_

You slowly turn your head up to him, and you probably should've said, “I don't know,” but instead, you say, “God isn't real.”

“Wh—why—what the _fuck_ does God have to do with any of this?”

You let your facial expression falter for a second before resuming staring into space because anything else—everything else just hurts, and your mind is a little too foggy. You hear a sigh, then a chair being dragged across the floor before someone makes himself at home in it. “How are you?”

“J—John—Josh—whatever your name is—why are you here?”

“I found you passed out in your bathroom with an empty pill bottle and some cheap booze. Your parents aren't bothering to show up, and I don't know any of your friends that still live in Ohio, so you're stuck with me.”

It takes you a few minutes to process what he says, before settling on the eloquent response of, “Oh.”

 

You're in and out of it for a few days before your mind is actually clear enough for you to speak in full sentences. Josh is still there, and you end up having to wake him up. How he was able to sleep sitting up in an uncomfortable chair, you'll never know. “Why are you still here?”

You get a shrug. _Geez. Alright then._ “How are you?”

“Shitty. I feel like I'm hungover.”

“Not surprised. I'll—I'm going to go get a doctor.”

 

You end up being discharged a week later, which probably isn't the best idea, as far as logic goes, but you don't have the money to pay for a hospital bill, nor do you have the insurance, so getting the hell out of there as soon as you could seemed like the logical choice. You have to have that Josh guy drive you to your apartment, since you didn't have your car. He's more pleasant to deal with when you're not in a hospital bed with numerous IVs attached to your body, or a heart monitor nearby. Shit—he actually talks to you, rather than being rude and stiff.

Okay, well, maybe finding a guy you don't know that well passed out on the floor of his apartment after a suicide attempt can draw out the rudeness in you, but, still. You think he could stand to lighten up a bit. A smile wouldn't kill him, now would it?

He walks you up to your apartment, and he invites himself in. You're too tired to try protesting, and you don't think he seems like the kind of guy who'd try to do anything, and, hell, you almost died anyways, so what else is there to lose? You end up curling up on your couch, listening to him walk around. You're not sure what he's doing until you hear him walking up to the couch. You open your eyes, only to see him holding a bag of all of your _knives_ used for cooking, all of your _razors,_ the razor blades you never had the nerve to use, and even the fucking ibuprofen.

“Okay, I get it, you saved my life, but what the _fuck_ are you doing?”

“Taking everything you could use to hurt yourself. You can live with butter knives and dull razors.”

“What—you don't trust me?”

“No, I don't.”

Fuck. He's blunt. It's better than lying, or sugarcoating, you guess, but it's kind of off-putting either way. “Oh.” You watch as he sets the bag down next to the door before plopping himself next to you on your couch. Things are quiet for a minute, before you have a realization— _“Fuck._ The hospital bill. Shit.” You get about halfway off the couch before a hand is gripping your bicep and pulling you right back down.

“I took care of it.”

You give the guy an incredulous look. “Seriously? You don't even _know_ me.”

“I know that you probably make about twenty five grand a year and that the cost of living in Columbus is almost ridiculous for a nineteen year old, so, don't worry about it.”

“You—you're like twenty one, _at best._ How— _why?”_

He shrugs. “Don't question it. Do you have cable?”

He pays your fucking hospital bills, now he's asking if you have cable. “Uh—I mean—I use my neighbor's internet and one of my friend's Netflix account? It—there's an HDMI cord on the TV, and I use my laptop or whatever.” You're rambling, because, Jesus—this guy is weird. He doesn't give you any creepy vibes, and he doesn't seem to _want_ anything from you, aside from Netlifx, and it's the weirdest thing ever. “Sorry. I talk a lot.”

He shrugs. Again. “I don't give a shit. You should hear me half the time.”

“My laptop is over there. I'd get it, but, uh, I'm—I'm kind of dizzy and a little nauseous.”

He doesn't even look at you as he gets up to grab it. “Password?”

“… I just met you like a week ago after trying to off myself, and now you expect me to give you my _password_?”

“Yes. It's not like I'm going to go snooping. I don't give a shit about whatever fucked up porn you watch or the weird files on your laptop. I just want to catch up on Orange is the New Black.”

“Jeez. Fine. It's _120193114545.”_

“How the hell do you even remember that?” He mutters as he types it all in.

“December first, nineteen ninety-three, at eleven forty five PM. Four pounds, five ounces.”

He looks over at you and raises his eyebrows a bit. “That's… oddly specific.”

“It's my birth date plus how much I weighed.”

“Huh. Where's your remote?”

You point at the coffee table. The shitty, rickety little coffee table that you got for ten bucks at some yard sale. You watch him as he leans over to grab it. He's in a flimsy t-shirt, and, okay, he has a nice body. Now probably isn't the time to go popping a hard on over some guy you just met, but, hey, what can ya do?

Neither of you really talk for a good forty minutes while the show is playing, but during a boring part, he suddenly asks, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I'm talking about. _Why?”_

“It was late at night, I was alone, I didn't have anyone to talk to, and I'm bad at controlling my impulses. Other than that, I don't really know, aside from the typical 'life is meaningless' spiel.”

“Oh.”

“If it makes you feel better, I realized that I don't want to die and that suicide wasn't the answer? Also, God isn't real.”

“You told me. Why do you say that?”

“Wasn't I legally dead for, like, ten minutes?”

“I think?”

“Yeah. God isn't real. I didn't—there wasn't any light, and there wasn't any sort of presence. It's was just… dark. There was nothing.”

“Huh. I don't know if that's reassuring or if it's scary.”

You shrug. “Gives me a reason to be an atheist and to further piss off my parents.”

He snorts. “Definitely.”

 

To add onto your growing pile of shit, you get fired for disappearing for a week and a half without saying anything. It's understandable, but even after hearing your reason, your boss still isn't having it, so you go back to your apartment and have probably one of the worst panic attacks you've had in a few years. Your rent isn't the cheapest, then you have bills, and taxes, and then the small amount of money that goes towards a secret fund since you really, _really,_ need to pay Josh back. (He told you not to worry about it, but you don't like to swallow your pride very often.)

You spend two weeks looking for a job before realizing that, yeah, you're screwed. You're just—you're screwed, and you're going to be living in debt for the rest of your life. You can't go to your parents, all of your friends live all over the damn country because none of them could stay in fucking Columbus for whatever reason, and you just—you're fucked.

Well, actually… There is _one_ person you could go to for help, but he's a last resort. You _cannot_ ask Josh for anything else. He's already been hovering, he paid your fucking _hospital bills,_ and you think it'd be overstepping your bounds if you were to ask him for help whether it be with your rent, or helping you find another place to stay, or, hell, even finding another fucking job. You spend another four days trying to think of _anything_ else you could do to scrape up enough money for rent, bills, _taxes,_ and whatever the hell else you need, before realizing you don't have any other options than to call Josh up one day out of the blue. (Okay, it's not really out of the blue, since he talks to you a little bit and comes over every few days to check on you, but it's out of the blue for you.)

_“_ _Uh, actually, I think I could hook you up with a job. A buddy of mine, Mark, he runs a book store slash coffee shop, and one of his only employees quit. If you want I could give him a call?”_

“Oh my fucking God. You just saved my life. Again.” That's probably not a funny joke, but it's been, like, a month, and you're still in some sort of state of denial, so you might as well make fun of yourself.

 

Mark gives you the job without even meeting you first. When you show up the first day, he just says that he trusts Josh enough to risk the well-being of his business. “Anyways, all you need to do is sort the books, sweep, and kind of just hang out, I guess. I handle the coffee for the most part.”

“Seriously? That's it? No catch?”

“Nope. No catch. Don't really give a shit what you do as long as you don't steal anything or piss off any of the customers.”

_Huh._

 

You like Mark. He has a dry, sarcastic, and witty sense of humor, and he's actually pretty nice. He's the kind of guy you'd be willing to play Halo with on the weekends while eating Cheetos and chugging Mountain Dew. Also, the fact that you're making two dollars more per hour than you were at your old job definitely doesn't hurt your opinion of the guy.

Josh pops in once in a while. You think he's there to check on you, since you always catch him and Mark glancing at you and talking in voices just quiet enough to where you cant hear them. It kind of bugs you, but you don't say anything, because you have a job and you can pay your rent on time then still have a little money left over to either add to your savings or to blow on yourself.

 

You're sitting in the corner of Mark's store, skimming a copy of some novelization of a TV show, and contemplating your life again. Of course, this time you're not deciding on whether or not to end it. You're just wondering. That's it. You're wondering about it. You're also minding your own business, and you're off in your little world, which is why you jump and yelp when there's a foot making contact with your thigh. "Josh, _fuck--_ warn a guy, would ya?"

 

Honestly, the aftermath of a suicide attempt isn't what you thought it would be, because life goes on. You still have to get up and work to keep your apartment, and to keep yourself fed and clothed. That doesn't mean you're not affected, because you are. It kind of just feels surreal, though. You have to ask yourself, _'Did that really happen? Was it me that did that?'_

Sure, it's been a month, but it just doesn't seem like it was _you_ who swallowed all those pills, and drank all that alcohol. It's kind of weird that it took you almost—actually, no, technically you _did_ die—it took you _dying_ to realize that you like being alive. It always takes something like that to make someone realize that, yeah, life is pretty great, even when it's not.

You also kind of get a reality check. There's people who care about you. Of course, you didn't blast the news of your suicide attempt all over social media, and the only people who really know about it are Josh and _maybe_ your parents, and, actually, you think Mark knows, but only out of necessity and through Josh, but the point is that you realize people care about you. You're not the only one affected by suicide. Your parents, your friends, hell, even people you don't _know_ could be affected by it, and it's just—it's weird. It's weird and it kind of gives you a new perspective on life.

You're not _alone._ You think that's one of your biggest realizations. You're not alone, and the feeling of being isolated isn't as bad as it was before, surprisingly.


	16. Chapter 16

**the only thing that confuses me about this fic is that i wasnt into supernatural when i started it lmao?**

**like my supernatural phase was circa late 2013 and this is from march 2016?? like ok past cade**

**its really bad and cringy and from my fob phase so beware**

PROLOGUE

 

Burning.

That's what you remember most. The unbearable sensation of burning, the smell of your flesh frying, and the aching feeling from having your wings literally torn from your body. The hot feeling of shame that washes over you when you think of your mistake is a more metaphorical sensation of burning. It feels just as hot and as sinister as the physical burning, though.

You thought the mistake you made, though, wasn't something to be punished over. Your mistake was loving your family more than those pesky humans. Humans were such an unnecessary species. All they did was fight over dumb things and cry over even dumber things. They didn't make a lick of sense to you. You didn't understand why your father loved them so much.

What's even worse, though, is that you've been demoted to the angelic equivalent to a human. You're _one_ of them. It's disgusting, and if it wasn't a sin, you'd kill yourself. Though, you're not sure if it's possible for you to even die in this form, and you don't intend to find out any time soon.

Your vessel ends up being a boy that was born to two loving parents on April 27, 1995. The boy himself, though, was stillborn, and as with all stillborn infants, his soul was sent up to heaven. Or, well, you assumed it was. You figured it was, though. The time between you falling and entering your vessel was basically a second in Heaven's eye, and a second wasn't much time for every single thing to change. (Though, the act of an archangel being cast out of Heaven _was_ a pretty huge deal.)

You find out pretty quickly while 'growing up' that you still maintain some of your angelic power. Actually, you still have most of it, but you decide to conserve it until you actually _need_ the power. You think that once your vessel hits a certain age, he'll quit growing, and quit aging, and that you'll be stuck in him for as long as it takes for you yourself to die. You also think that if you use up your angelic power, your immortality will fade, and you'll age like a normal human. You're not sure, though. You're the first angel to have ever been cast out of heaven.

You don't have it in you to lead a 'normal' life, so you decide that you'll put your ethereal powers into being a musical prodigy. You win numerous awards throughout your life, and after entering high school, the music scene in Chicago is pretty much having an all out _war_ for you. You think it's stupid. You don't want to join any bands. You just want to coast through your shitty, mortal life, and live normally.

Though, you kind of do crave the attention, and you crave fame and fortune almost as much as you want to lead a normal life. You've been cast out of heaven, so sinning probably wasn't a huge deal at that point.

When your vessel is sixteen, you finally decide to join a band. You're not surprised that once the band starts playing at venues that you start seeing some of your brothers and sisters pop up here and there. You figure that Father had sent them down to keep an eye on you, and you pretend that you're just a simple human that doesn't have any knowledge whatsoever that you're fucking _Lucifer._ (The only hint that your brothers and sisters have would be that you use small amounts of your angelic power to prevent any of them from reading your mind

Instead, you're just Patrick Stump; a short, slightly pudgy sixteen year old with a flimsy sense of self going through some weird form of sexuality crisis over one of the boys in his band, and trying to get out of the oppressive hold of his overbearing parents. It's not easy, but you make it work.

 

Anyways, that's the beginning of your story. It's average. Normal. Severely underwhelming.

ONE

 

The first time you start noticing weird things about Patrick is during one of the first tours Fall Out Boy does. You notice that he's far too smooth, and far too smart given his age. He's too talented as well. Talent is good, but he has almost infinite amounts of talent, and it's just so _weird._ You get that he's a prodigy and all, but that doesn't stop it from being suspicious. He acts innocent, but for some reason you can tell that he knows _exactly_ what he's doing. Every single thing he does is deliberate, and it's off-putting.

You ask both Pete and Andy about it, but they apparently don't notice it, so you don't bring it up ever again. You think Patrick knows you're suspicious of him, because he looks at you a lot, and gives you looks that ask, “Why the fuck are you staring at me, Curly Q?” (Yes, he calls you Curly Q. You get it, you're Jewish, you have curly as fuck hair, but it annoys you a little bit.) (You're a little scared of him, though, so you don't correct him.)

Patrick seems to gravitate towards Pete quite a bit, and it bums you out, since you enjoy his presence, despite the intimidating and dangerous aura he radiates. Even though he's scary, he's just so fucking _charming._ He has some weird gravity around him that draws you in, and you can't get enough of the small amounts of attention he graces you with. It's a little pathetic, honestly.

 

The first time you actually witness something is during one of the first shows Fall Out Boy plays in front of a larger audience in Milwaukee. You were looking into the crowd, and you notice two other people who look far too otherworldly standing in the back, staring at Patrick. When you look over to Patrick, you notice he's staring right back at them, but still somehow managing to focus on singing and playing his own guitar _on top of running around the whole damn stage,_ trying to keep up with Pete's hyperactive ass.

The weird thing you witness, though, well… You can't explain it properly, but, essentially, one second the two people were there, but when you blink, they're gone, and Patrick's looking a little concerned, but he's still keeping his cool, and you're just confused. Andy shoots you a weird look, but you give him a minute shake of your head, and carry on with the show, with plans to ask Patrick about it later.

 

“Hey, did you notice those two people in the back?”

Patrick gives you a look that you know is fake. “No? There were a lot of people in there, dude.”

“Cut the shit, Patrick. You were looking at them too, and don't tell me you weren't, because you _were.”_

Patrick rolls his eyes, and pretty much throws his fork onto his plate. “What do you want me to say? That they were fucking weird? There isn't a conversation to be had about this, dude. I don't know who the hell they were, or what they wanted with me. Maybe they're from a label or something, I don't know.”

You frown at him, but nod slightly, not quite believing him.

 

The second weird thing you witness is back in Chicago. There's another weird person, and Patrick looks a little pissed off. The lyrics he's spouting are angrier than they should be, and his movements are jerkier and more unstable than they usually are. For a moment, you swear his eyes flash blood red, as cliché as it sounds, and you have to do a double take. They're back to normal when you look at him again, though, and he's making eye contact with you, as if to ask, “Did you see something? Do you _know_ something?”

You just frown and shake your head slightly. You must be exhausted. The band has been touring constantly for almost a year, and you rarely get more than four or five hours a sleep a night, unless it's one of the rare chances you get to go home and spend a few nights with your family.

 

One night you're in a hotel, and you cant quite sleep, so you pick up a copy of the new testament, and head into the bathroom to read it. You're not Christian, so you don't particularly believe in a good portion of this bible, but it doesn't stop you. For some reason, you feel drawn to it, and it feels almost necessary that you read it.

You pick a random page, and the page you land on is a page that is the beginning of the story about how Lucifer was exiled. A lot of people think of Lucifer as a demon, but that couldn't be further from the truth. He's an archangel. He disobeyed, and his father punished him. It was weird, but it was something that you'd seen in everyday life.

After reading about Lucifer, you're suddenly more sensitive to everything Patrick does, and it just makes you consider a few things. You're probably being superstitious, so you don't dare breathe a word of your suspicions.

 

There's a two year long break between albums, and in that time, you grow a little closer to Patrick. You've been counting, but the thirteenth weird thing that happens is when the two of you are walking down the street talking about a movie or a book or something along those lines. He'd been carrying the conversation along as usual when suddenly this grave, and stern look comes across his face.

He grips your bicep, and starts running, looking almost as if he's about to have a panic attack or something. You run with him, and keep asking him what the hell is happening, but he just shakes his head. “I'll explain later. We need to run.”

The two of you end up back at the hotel room either of you had been sharing. He's out of breath, and his eyes are alive with both fear and fury. He goes through one of his bags, and pulls out a box of fucking chalk, which throws you for one hell of a loop. He starts drawing weird symbols on the door, and on each wall of the room, and muttering things in a foreign language that you're pretty sure is dead. “What about Pete and Andy?”

“They should be fine, and so should you, but I'm not risking you.”

He looks around for a moment, obviously thinking, before rushing over to the bathroom door to draw more of those weird symbols on it as well. “Patrick, what's going on? Why are you being fucking weird?” He looks up at you, and squints a little bit.

You don't know what to do, so you just stare back at him, and wait for an answer. Your blood runs cold, and you're surprised you don't drop dead from a massive coronary as Patrick shifts from his awkward, gawky, eighteen year old self, to someone who looks far too old given his physical age. His face is no longer round, but rather his face is more angular and sharp, and instead of being warm and inviting, his eyes are steely and cold, and he seems to drop at least thirty pounds on the spot.

You're genuinely fucking surprised you didn't faint. Patrick suddenly looks fucking _ethereal_ and _gorgeous,_ and it scares the living shit out of you.

“I'm the archangel Lucifer.”

You blink. You believe him, you really do. There wasn't any way for you to _not_ believe him, especially with the shit he just pulled with changing his appearance. “Alright.”

He gives you this perplexed look. “Is that it? You just believe me?”

“I've had suspicions about you for two years, if not more, but I couldn't exactly place my finger on what the suspicions were. I'm not surprised. Scared shitless, sure, but I'm not surprised.”

“You're smart, kid. Aren't you going to like, run away or something? I mean, you're talking to fucking Satan.”

“You're an archangel. You don't seem evil to me, so I don't see a point in running.”

“Well, good, because no living creature, human or not, is getting through any of those seals.”

“Are you going to tell me what's going on now?”

“Are you _sure_ you trust me? You're not going to ask me to prove myself? _Nothing?_ I could be a demon; I could be trying to kill you.”

“If you were trying to kill me, being my friend for eight years is a pretty convoluted way to murder someone, so I wouldn't consider it as a possibility.” You deadpanned, and Patrick just huffs a bit.

“Something is happening upstairs, like, in Heaven, and I don't know why, but, some of my brothers and sisters are after me, and I really don't want to find out why. I have a few guesses, but I'm not sure.”

 

This is when you faint.

 

You wake up some unknown amount of time later, and you're laying on one of the beds, with Patrick creepily staring at you from the foot of the bed with his arms crossed and his jaw set. “You going to pass out again?”

You shake your head. “I'll try not to. Can you like—Can you try to explain what you think is going on? I'm really confused here.”

“Something's going on in heaven, and there's other angels after me. I don't know why, and I have a few theories which I'm willing to explain if you won't pass out.”

“I just said I'd try not to, so fucking tell me you asshole.” You kick your shoe off at him, and he catches it mid air and gives you a stern look that could make milk curdle and most people run away.

“I think there might be an uprising. Either that, or my father isn't satisfied with putting me in this shit-hole with all you filthy maggots, and is craving a more severe punishment for me.”

“Can I ask some questions?” You decide to disregard the 'maggot' comment for now.

“Go ahead.”

“What happened to the real Patrick?”

“Didn't get a chance to exist. This vessel was stillborn, and his soul, presumably, went upstairs just before I was able to take over.”

“How long have you been alive?”

“Longer than you can comprehend.”

“Do you actually like any of us? Like, me, Pete, or Andy.”

“I have a fondness, but I don't know if I would go so far as to say 'like.' I'm not human, so I don't experience emotions the same way as you do, if at all.”

“Well, you must experience something if you're scared about your siblings coming after you.”

He squints. “You have a point.”

“So, are we going to stay in this room for the rest of our lives?”

“Hell no. This isn't the best motel, and the vague smell of piss is getting to me. We're going to have to pack up and leave at some point.”

Your frown at him a bit. “I have shit to do here, dude. I have family, and friends, not to mention I kind of want to go to college.”

“We're in a fucking band, you don't have time for college, and I have _angels_ up my fucking ass, so we probably won't get to stay in one place for more than a night or two at a time, and I'm running a _little_ low on angelic power, given that I've been cut off. Your family's used to you being gone, _especially_ given that we've been touring pretty much constantly since you were sixteen.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you can't think of anything to say. There really isn't anything to argue about, if you're honest. He's touched down on all of the points you could think off, except for one. “What are you going to tell Pete and Andy?”

“The truth.”

“Yeah, like they'll believe you.”

“You'd be surprised at how gullible people can be. Also, look at me; I've aged about ten years. They're going to notice. Me suddenly being physically twenty eight is going to raise a few questions.”

“This is all a little far fetched.”

Patrick just shrugs. “Sorry, I guess.” He walks over to the other bed in the room, climbs onto it, sits down Indian style, and closes his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up. Trying to see if I can pick up anything from other angels or demons or something.”

“Alright then. Can I watch TV or something?”

“No. I don't care what you do, but if it makes any noise, I will decapitate you.”

You winced. You didn't doubt that he would decapitate you. He was scary enough when he pretended to be human, and he's scarier now that you know he's actually an angel. Or, well, a fallen ang-

“Will you quit thinking? I'm having a hard enough time with Pete's hyperactive mind, and you're not helping. Also, yes, I'm terrifying, and you shouldn't taunt me.”

“I can't _not_ think.”

“Well, shut the fuck up then.”

A few minutes later, he's on the other side of the room with fingers pressed to your forehead, and the next thing you know you're waking up with one hell of a headache. Patrick's just sitting at a table with his head in his hands. “I haven't been able to find anything. All of the demons in the area are unaware of any trouble, and all of the angels are pretty much silent, and very selective with whatever thoughts they're letting out. They all probably _know_ that I'm here, and that I'm aware something's happening.”

You sit up and rub at one of your eyes. “Aren't all of you all-knowing?”

“No. That's Father's job. We can read minds and all, but we aren't all-knowing or invincible. Angels can die, just like you can. We can die of old age, too, but our life expectancy is longer than you can even begin to imagine.”

“Can I ask another question?”

“I don't know, can you?”

“Fuck off, Patrick. Aren't angels supposed to be guardians or something?”

“No. We're soldiers. We do what we're told without question. That's why I got cast out; I questioned Father's orders, and he apparently wasn't a fan of it.” Patrick messes with the cuff on his shirt. He walks over to the door, licks his finger, and wipes about an inch of one of the lines clear, and calls Pete's cell phone and tells him to get his ass into the room the two of you are sharing.

While the two of you wait, he grabs the piece of chalk he'd been using earlier, and once the other two boys are in the room, he fixes the ward, and mutters another incantation under his breath. Similar to you, Pete instantly says, “What the actual fuck, Patrick?” He's scanning Patrick's face, trying to find an answer. “What—What—How—What _happened?”_

Patrick gives Pete the same explanation he'd given you, but he has a little more trouble getting the idea drilled into Pete's mind than he had with you. Andy seems to take everything into consideration, watching quietly with a calculative gaze. Patrick ends up having to pull some spooky angel shit to prove himself to Pete. (You mean that Patrick did some spectacular show with fire, and Pete just about fainted. He didn't, but he was close.)

Once Pete has regained what was left of his composure, he sits on one of the beds, and asks Patrick, “What happened to Patrick?”

“Nothing? I _am_ Patrick. This vessel was stillborn, and I happened to get down here just in the nick of time.”

Pete doesn't look quite satisfied with the answer, but he doesn't press the issue anymore than it's already been pressed. Patrick asks Andy if he has any questions, but Andy just gives him a minute shake of his head, and stares a hole right into the small angel's very soul.

 

As fate would have it, when Patrick asks, “Which one of you fuckers is coming with me?” you're the only one who offers themselves up. Pete and Andy had just backed away, not wanting to get involved, and you figured you had nothing better to do with your time, so you might as well. Maybe you'll get killed. Probably better than being in this hell hole.

Patrick wipes the wards off of the walls of the hotel room, grabs your bicep, then the two of you are in some nondescript location, and your head is spinning. “Patrick, what the _fuck_ was that?”

“I just flew you to Calgary. We're in Calgary.”

 _“_ _Calgary?_ Why the fuck did you choose Calgary?”

He shrugs. “It's cold. Probably not the first place my brothers and sisters would check. Also,” He walks over to you, and presses a hand to your chest. You feel a burning sensation where his hand is, it's nothing like you've ever felt before, and it causes you to let out a pretty ferocious yelp. “Essentially I just carved a thing into one of your ribs that will prevent any other supernatural beings from being able to track you, which is going to be useful.”

“Cant you do the same thing to yourself?”

“No. I mean, I can go into hiding, and I've done it before, and I'll probably do it here pretty fucking quick, but that thing I carved into your rib? Yeah, that isn't going to work on me. I'm an archangel, for Christ's sake. There's plenty of archangels, but we aren't common, so it's not hard to spot one if you know what to look for.”

“Do you think you have like… any allies?”

“Probably. Not sure, though. I'm not in the market to be searching for angelic allies. As far as I know, every single fucking angel is hot on my trail, and I'm essentially fucked.”


	17. Chapter 17

**once upon a time i started a version of cosmetic from dallons point of view. also im gonna post all of the drafts from cosmetic in this fic have fun! (i think i posted one already but im not sure?? idk)**

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_**July, 2012. New York City.** _

 

Of course, the one morning you're _actually_ needed to be at work at seven in the fucking morning is the one morning you spill your precious, imported, and _expensive_ coffee all over the passenger's seat in your car. You've had the car for, what, two weeks? Yeah, two weeks, and you've probably already absolutely _ruined_ the upholstery.

 _Of course,_ you also don't have the _time_ to clean the seat, let alone go back home, make yourself more coffee, and _then_ go to work, so you opt for the next best option: Starbucks. You fucking hate Starbucks, but it's the nearest place you can get coffee, and you really don't have a lot of options in the first place.

You intended to be in and out of the place within the amount of time it took for the barista to prepare and serve your coffee, but similar to the rest of your morning thus far, that was _not_ happening.

He's fucking adorable, and you really want to bash your head against a wall right now. You don't need this. You really don't. You make an idiot out of yourself after you recite what you _think_ used to be your usual order, when he asks you for your name. Why would he ask for your name? You blank for a few seconds until he's pointing at the cup and, yeah, you actually really do want to bash your head against a wall. “Oh, shit, sorry. I'm fuckin' tired this morning.” You sigh a little bit, _mostly_ in embarrassment. “Dallon. My name.”

When you get your drink, you find a phone number scrawled under your name, and, _okay,_ there go your plans for getting to work early. That's definitely not happening now. What is happening, though, is that you're sitting next to a window, totally not staring at the guy whenever he's busy with other customers or his job, while sipping your shitty drink, which actually isn't tasting as shitty as you remembered for reasons unbeknownst to you.

 

Work goes by as it usually does. Boring as fucking hell. You get reamed by your assistant, then you're in and out of meetings all day, and finally, you come home to a note from your wife saying she's out with some friends, and that you're, essentially, on your own for dinner. Which isn't a big deal. You prefer cooking for yourself. More freedom that way, you know?

You're only peeved, though, because lately (by lately, you mean the past four years or so) she's been up your _ass_ about communicating with her, and spending more _time_ with her, but when you try, she's not home, or she's busy, and, yeah, alright, you're surprised you haven't lost all hope yet. Things have been going south for _years,_ but you still try.

After you've showered and had a meal that was something more than leftover take-out and a glass of wine, you go against every single instinct in you that's saying, “Dallon, you're married, and you're (supposed to be) _straight,_ so don't do it,” by texting, presumably, the barista.

 

 **Dallon:** hey, are you the kid who wrote his number on my coffee this morning?

 **Cute Barista:** probably

 **Dallon:** you're a little presumptuous.

 **Cute Barista:** well, what can a guy do? if I see a cute guy, i've gotta hit on him, you know?

 

Oh, for fuck's sake, you're _thirty._ You _cannot_ be going red in the face from some _kid_ trying to flirt with you over SMS. He's cute, though. He's cute and he thinks you're cute and you really shouldn't be talking to—why? Why shouldn't you be talking to him? For all you know, he could just have a weird way of saying he wants to be friends. That's totally… reasonable. It doesn't _have_ to be romantic, or sexual, or anything that's frowned upon for a married man to be doing.

 

 **Dallon:** seems reasonable.

 

You go to the same Starbucks again during your lunch break the next day. Given the time of day, you're surprised the store is packed to the rafters, but you're not displeased, since you get the chance to chat the cute barista up. One of the other baristas keeps looking at him, then at _you,_ and you don't even make eye contact. Whatever the other guy is insinuating or looking for, well, it's not there.

Cute Barista, Brendon, you learn, takes his break just so he can have the chance to talk with you more while you work on finishing your subpar but not as bad as previously expected coffee. You tell him a story about one of your misadventures in college, totallynot taking advantage of the opportunity to shamelessly look at his face.

 

Your first fuck up is a week later. Okay, not _first,_ since you've had (quite) a few fuck ups, but your first fuck up regarding Brendon happens a little over a week after you meet him.

You could've done this a long, _long_ time ago, but, you pay your student loans off. You had the money, so you figured, “Fuck it,” and _paid them off._

To celebrate, you decide to go to a bar and have a few drinks. The first step in your fuck up, though, is asking Brendon if he wanted to accompany you. You talk to him over text a bit, and then whenever you go to the Starbucks, so honestly, you shouldn't be wanting _more,_ but the heart wants what the heart wants.

Okay, that sounds a little _too_ deep, but you kind of just wanted to hang out with him outside of his job, your lunch break, or outside of texts.

He does take you up on your offer of going out for a drink, and for the first time in probably a few years, at least, you have a good time. Like, a genuinely good time. He's an energetic person, but not obnoxiously so. He has so many things to _say,_ and he has this enchanting _air_ about him whenever he goes off on a tangent, and you probably spend most of the time kind of just listening to him, in awe. It's not as if he's _that_ interesting, but you like listening to him. He's funny and he's charming.

You kiss him that night. Why? Well, you want to say that you don't know, but you do. You just _wanted_ to. It's not as if you were asking him to marry you or anything. It was just a kiss. On the lips. That turned into two kisses. Then three, four, five maybe. There's a part of you that wants to shove him away, and never see him again, but that part is very, very small, so you let yourself have this.

It was just a kiss that made your heart race for the first time in god knows how long, and it was just a kiss that left you giddier than a school girl for hours afterward. If you could've, and if the cab driver hadn't have interrupted, you probably would've just stood there and kissed him for an eternity.

Is _this_ why everyone likes kissing people? You never really knew why people made such a big deal out of kissing until now, as horribly cliché and corny as it sounds. While you're in the cab on the way back to your own home, your head is just… _racing._

You're gay. You know it now, and you've known it your whole life. You know that the reason you're basically having an existential crisis over a fucking kiss is because you're gay, and you kissed a boy for the first time without underlying intentions of fucking him then never seeing him again. Oh, also, the fact that you've been married for seven years _might_ have something to do with it.

 

You start going to his apartment sometimes. You don't go over there with anything other than platonic intentions. (At first, at least.) You have a _friend_ that you don't have to _hide_ around. You don't ever verbally say, “I'm gay,” but you're pretty sure he knows, and you don't get any shit for it. You can talk about _boys_ and just—you can talk about things that you usually _can't_ talk about around anyone else with him. It's so relieving.

It's nice not having to be careful with your words around someone. Okay, you're still a little careful when talking about yourself, because you still haven't exactly found a way to gracefully drop the, “Hey, I'm married,” bomb, but you can openly talk about how much you are _dying_ to go down on a guy without fear of judgment, so who gives a shit, you know? (You actually are dying to do that, though. Surprisingly enough, with as much as you fucked around in college, you never got the chance to give anyone head.)

It's the middle of August now; roughly a month after the _first_ kiss.

“Can I… kiss you?” His eyebrows go up a little bit before he quickly runs his tongue across his bottom lip. He says that, yeah, you can kiss him, so you do, and it's… it's like the last time. It's nice. Your heart races like it did last time, and, honestly, the only difference is that now you're not on nearly as much of a time limit as you were, so you definitely take advantage of that.

You _like_ this. A lot. You have to resist the urge to let out a slightly shocked moan when one of his hands grip the back of your hair and yanks you closer. When it comes to men, you're basically a teenager. One little bit of attention from a man and you get worked up. This time isn't any different. To you, it's a grand gesture, but after seven minutes of kissing, maybe, you pull Brendon onto your lap, and try not to groan too loudly when he not-so-subtly rolls his hips against yours. He's a bit of a tease. Just a bit.

Shirts and pants are lost, _then underwear,_ before you're sitting in front of him, on his bed, basically having a school lesson on Gay Sex 101. You've slept with guys before, of course, but it's been so long, and you've kind of forgotten how the whole process goes. You're incredibly embarrassed, but this _kid_ just doesn't give a shit about your inexperience.

 

It takes you almost no time to come to the conclusion that Brendon Urie is beautiful. He's so self deprecating, and you don't _get it,_ because he's just—he's beautiful. He has the jawline of a god, cheekbones sharp enough to kill a man, brown eyes, round and endearing. You'll openly admit that he could do with a different hair cut and that it wouldn't kill him to shave more than once every three days, but, nevertheless, he's beautiful, and you're kind of fucked.

You like his apartment a lot. It's a shit hole in the seedy part of New York, and it doesn't have shit on your own house, but it actually feels like a _home_ to you. It's lived in.

Listening to and watching him talk is kind of a surreal experience. He's so _passionate_ about life and he has an ambitious gleam in his eye that you could only _dream_ of having. Along with the confidence, and the “I don't give a shit whether or not you like me, because it's not stopping me from doing what I want” attitude, he's just intoxicating to be around.

You wonder what your life would've been like if you even had half the balls he had when you were his age. You probably wouldn't be stuck in an unhappy and unhealthy marriage, and you wouldn't be so fucking miserable doing some job you have almost absolutely no passion for whatsoever. You probably wouldn't be sneaking around on your wife, because you don't love her, not like you should, and you wouldn't constantly be asking yourself, “What if?” You probably wouldn't be having an affair with a man ten years your junior, and you wouldn't feel guilty over _not_ feeling guilty.

He's… he's kind to you. Surprisingly, you're an affectionate person. Sure, you come off as an asshole, and rarely, like, _rarely_ does anyone even _try_ to get past your prickly and intimidating facade, but he pretty much destroyed it with a sledgehammer the instant he met you. You're probably just some desperate old man, but he treats you like a fucking _person,_ an it's just—people don't do that—treat you that way very often. It's a little hard not to get attached to that.

Backtracking to the affectionate comment, well, it's definitely not the right thing to do, but you don't run the risk of getting your head ripped off or hearing a never ending crock of shit if you're _affectionate_ with _him._ You feel _safe_ when he's holding you. You're glad he doesn't expect you to initiate everything since you're _older_ and _taller_ and _bigger._


	18. Chapter 18

**WOW IM SHOOK the title of the doc was misleading i thought this was gonna be a draft but no, 500 words of SMUT from cosmetic that never ended up happening**

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The takeout doesn't end up happening, but Dallon does end up on his back, legs spread, with you sitting just a little bit too far from him, trying to force him to swallow his pride and actually _ask_ you for what he wants. The most you've managed to get out of him so far, though, are desperate little whines, and a few very frustrated repeats of 'Brendon, come _on_.'

He's so _needy._ You're not one to talk, though. This is one of the rare times _you_ get to top, and every time after the first time, you get increasingly more and more difficult to deal with. For some reason, it's so satisfying to see someone who is so used to being in control being, you know, _not_ in control.

Of course, you know when to knock your shit off, but he _knows_ you eat up every single noise and every single word that comes out of his mouth, so either he plays along, or he just gets super into it. You're pretty sure it's the latter. It's fun to knock him down a few pegs, if anything.

You cast the bottle of lube and the condom that'd been in your hand aside for a little bit so you can rest your hands on his thighs, moving your thumbs ever so slightly. “C'mon. Just tell me what you want. I'm not above making you beg for it.”

 _That_ makes him groan and throw his head back against the pillows while he tries to grab your hands and move them to where he wants them. You pull them away, though, saying, “Nope.”

“You _know_ what I want.”

“For all I know, you might want to see _me_ on my back, begging _you_ to fuck me into the next week.” He lets out one of his usual desperate whines, and all you can bring yourself to do is smirk at him. “And to use one of _your_ favorite lines; I'm not above taking care of myself in the bathroom.”

He puts his hands over his face, and, in a voice muffled by his hands, he says, “Just—touch me or something— _please,”_ but that definitely doesn't stop you from being an absolute _shit,_ and asking, “Pardon? I didn't hear you.”

If looks could kill, well, everyone can finish that sentence for you. Your hands are back on his thighs, and he lets out another frustrated little noise. “I'm not repeating myself.”

“That's unfortunate then.” You're close to just giving in yourself, honestly.

He just sighs, defeated; “I was trying to ask if you'd like—touch me.”

“Where?” You can see the way his dick is _slightly_ twitching, and the way he's trying to make his hips hold still, and, like you said, you're _really_ close to just giving in.

“ _Seriously?_ ”

“I can't do it if I don't know.”

“Jesus— _why_ do you like teasing me? I'm just a simple man wanting to get his brains fucked out for the first time in two or three months.”

“You're fun to tease and it turns me on; what more can I say?”

“You're an asshole.”

You just smile sweetly, before it turns into a smirk after he just outright _moans_ at the sight of you coating your fingers with lube, and, okay, he's right; you're an asshole.


	19. Chapter 19

**once upon a time dallon had his own company in cosmetic but that got scrapped**

**\---**

“Not really. I have to go on a _business trip_ between the twenty-eighth and the thirtieth.”

You groan. “Stay home. Pay attention to me.”

He huffs and tugs you a bit closer. “As much as I'd love to, I still have a job.”

 

“Seriously? You've never baked cookies before?”

“Breezy always did all the cooking and baking. I haven't had the chance.” He's quick to defend himself.

You tap your foot on the tiled floor of the kitchen. “And we've been together for almost five years. You have had _plenty_ of chances.”

“I can make cake and brownies. That's it.”

“Yeah, because you can buy it in a box. We're making these from scratch.”

He grumbles for a second. “Why can't we just buy cookies?”

“Because it's more fun to bake them ourselves, and I am fucking _spectacular_ at baking cookies. Plus, you need to learn. You're thirty-four. You should know how to bake cookies by now.” You click your tongue at him a few times, then gasp dramatically as he flicks a tablespoon full of flour at you. “Don't start a fight you can't win.”

“Who says I can't win?” He has a gleam of challenge in his eye, and, oh boy, he's just fuckin' asking for it.

“I did.” You have a hand on your hip now, and you're pointing a wooden spoon at him. “I have a bowl of cookie dough. Don't test me. I can make your life a living hell.”

“And I have eggs and flour. I can make your life an even worse hell.”

“You wouldn't _dare.”_

“To use one of your favorite quotes; don't test me.”

And that's when you flick a small spoonful of dough at him, hitting him in the cheek. He slowly and very deliberately wipes his cheek off, before placing his dough covered palm on _your_ cheek. Ten minutes later finds the two of you covered just about head to toe in dough, eggs, and flour. It also happens to be another one of those times when Tyler just pops in without warning.

You and Dallon watch him, silently, not quite sure what to say, as he slowly walks over to the fridge, eyes never leaving the two of you, as he grabs leftover spaghetti and a bottle of water. “… Did I walk in on some weird role-play?”

“Lovers' quarrel,” Dallon responds before he can stop himself.

Tyler just mutters something in Arabic before grabbing a fork and leaving the kitchen.

 

Once you're cleaned up, and once you actually have the first batch of cookies in the oven, you ask Tyler why he's at your house. “I'm bored and Josh is in a pissy mood.”

“Why do you always come here?”

“You're the only person who'll let me eat leftovers and watch TV in peace _._ ”

You make an 'o' shape with your mouth before sitting on the other end of the couch. (A vague thought of 'where the hell did Dallon go' goes through your mind. You figured he'd follow you around the house, but, nope, he's nowhere to be seen.)

 

 

It's been, what, five years? It's been about five years, yet Brendon's mother still intimidates the fucking shit out of you. She's a nice lady, and she treats you as if you're her son, but she's stern and you know if you even mildly upset her son and she were to catch wind of it, she'd have your head, not to mention your balls, on a silver platter.

So, essentially, she's scary, but here you are, getting ready to ask for her blessing. You thank the lord Brendon actually believed your spiel about a 'business' trip, and that he isn't suspecting anything. You don't even know _how_ you're going to ask him to marry you, but you figure the first step is, _y'know,_ asking for his mother's blessing.

The minute the question leaves your mouth, and after your proclamation of love for her son, she's grinning, nodding, and giving you her blessing. You breathe a huge sigh of relief.

 

 

Surprisingly, over the course of nearly five years, you never had the chance to actually see Dallon's work place. It's definitely not what you imagined. It's a sensible building—four stories, nothing majorly fancy—just enough for what he does.

Today, apparently, was an important day. He has a meeting, like, a _very_ important meeting, and today also happened to be the one day he forgot to grab his laptop and his paperwork. He didn't have time to drive back to the house to retrieve his forgotten items, so, that left him with _you._

You had to _get up,_ get _dressed,_ drive _all the way_ to where he works, then you had to deal with a grumpy receptionist. _I better get one hell of a blow job for this._ It was a little comical at first, a least to you; “I can't let you see him without an appointment.”

You try arguing, using the, “I'm his _partner;_ we've been together for five years,” excuse, but she persists. _Fine. Two can play at that game._

 

 **Brendon:** is dallon in a meeting or anything

 **Pete:** no he's pacing around the office and annoying the shit out of everyone

 **Brendon:** so it's safe if I call his phone

 **Pete:** _please_ call him he's being VERY annoying

 

The phone rings twice before he answers it. “I have your laptop and your paperwork, but your _receptionist,”_ you give her a dirty look as you say that, “won't let me actually give them to you.”

You hear him curse under his breath before he hangs up on you. _Christ. Someone's in a pissy mood._ He pops up a few minutes later and reams the receptionist for another few minutes before you're being pulled into a quick hug and being thanked. “Hey—uh—do you want coffee or anything?” He's jerking a thumb towards the door he'd walked out of, and you shrug nonchalantly, trying not to come off as too eager.

“Sure. I didn't really have a chance to make myself some before _someone_ woke me up.” You cast him a faux-dirty look, which earns you an eye roll and a stuck out tongue. _Nerd._

As you follow him, he bumps you in the arm with his elbow. “Also using this as an excuse to show off and give you a tour.”

_Snort._

“First floor—accounting and HR, along with a break room. Which is where we are headed.” The break room doesn't surprise you. It's a pretty big room with a few tables and a couch, along with a coffee machine and a microwave. And a TV. There's a TV in the break room.

“Why do you have a TV in here?” You've seen a few break rooms, but you've never seen one as _nice_ as this one.

“...So people can watch TV while they're on their break? I'm a nice guy. I like my employees to have a good experience.” He has a hand over his heart, gasping a little dramatically at you. “I also like to buy their loyalty.”

You roll your eyes at him again. “You promised me coffee. Hop to.”

“It's not the best coffee. Just warning you.”

“Dump a bunch of sugar and creamer in it so I can't tell, then.”

“Why do you assume I'm making it for you?”

“You're the one who offered. You're also the one who works here. Treat me.”

He calls you something in French, which you don't catch, but you lightly kick his leg. “Hey, hey, this suit costs more than you can imagine. Don't touch my leg with your dirty shoe.”

“ _Excuse you,_ but my shoes aren't dirty.”

“They're the only shoes you wear. They're dirty.”

 

By the second floor, you have coffee in one hand, and a doughnut in the other. You're taking your sweet time eating it, but the fact that you're eating it is something a little remarkable, so you figure that's a viable excuse. You've been trying to eat more, and for the most part, you're succeeding.

“This is where most of the trading and finagling goes down.” You nod before he leads the way around the floor.

“There's a lot of people here, Jeez.”

“Mhm. Most of the revenue comes from here.” His voice is a little hushed now, especially considering just about everyone is on the phone, trying to sell _something._ “Anyways, this floor is boring, and not at all interesting, so if you would, then please follow me.”

 _What the hell else am I going to do?_ Not _follow him?_

He doesn't bother actually stopping on the third floor, just saying that it contains a few conference rooms, and is used for business and faculty meetings. And _then_ the fourth floor happens. Okay, it's nothing too exciting, just 'administrative' offices, and his office, but you _do_ get to watch him get onto a few people for not actually doing their jobs properly.

His office is nice. It's pristine, organized, and pretty big. There's windows on one of the walls, meaning sunlight, and then there's probably the most comfortable fuckin' couch in the world pressed against the wall opposite of the windows. “So, feed my ego. Are you _impressed?”_

You shrug. “I guess. It's just—it's an office building.”

“I've spent _seven_ _years_ cultivating this place.”

“And I've spent seven years cultivating my award winning personality.”

He squints, and 'hmph's at you.

You end up sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, and you get maybe ten minutes to talk to him before Pete pokes his head into the room and says, “Uh, the guy is here. Conference room three. Also, hi Brendon.”

You wave a little awkwardly. Why are you awkward around Pete? Who knows. He has literally _no_ boundaries with anyone, and you've been around him enough to quit being surprised or shocked at anything _anyone_ has to say.

Dallon groans a bit as he stands up, grabbing a folder, and heading towards the door. You tail him until he gets to _his_ destination, then you make your way down (press a different button in the elevator) to the first floor.

 

_**February 1** _ _**st** _ _**, 2018** _

 

The first of February is the one guaranteed night you get to go on a date with Dallon. For obvious reasons. It's _basically_ (literally) an anniversary. It's a relatively normal night; fancy restaurant, decent food and even better wine, but he's acting _weird._ He's doing the fidgeting thing, meaning he _really_ wants to say something. You don't call him out on it, but you _are_ watching him like a hawk.

Of course, you watching him like a hawk _isn't_ in vain. After he's paid for the meal, he stops you about four feet away from the table. “What?” You're giving him an incredulous look. As lovely as the date was, and with as much as you love him, you're tired. You kind of just want to get home so you can take a shower and go to bed.

He shifts back and forth, and by now a few people are looking up, then _more_ people are looking up when he drops down on one knee and—oh Jesus fucking Christ—he's about to do it. You kind of just—you kind of just look at him, mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised super fucking high, and eyes widening more and more as he goes on a slightly long winded rant about feelings before _actually_ asking the _question._

 _Is he—is he fucking serious? Is this happening?_ You open and close your mouth a few times, before figuring out how to actually form the word 'yes' with your mouth. Everyone in the restaurant cheers, and you try not to die from having too many heart palpitations.

 

Things are fine for four moths and eleven days.

It's a Tuesday, and you get up about the time Dallon leaves for work, meaning you're up around six. He's gone foran hour or two (maybe three) before he's in the living room, kicking his shoes off, and snatching the remote away from you. You're still tired, so all you can do is let out a pitiful, “ _Hey!”_ _I was watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians. Millionaire or not, I still vicariously live through them._

“Shut up and watch the fucking news with me.”

He sits down next to you, leaned forward, with his elbows balanced on his knees. There's something on the Today Show about global warming right now, which causes you to sit up more, saying, “I know you're into recycling and all, but uh, I don't think this is worth coming home at nine in the morning for.”

You get a _look_ from him. “Do you really think I'd leave work if I was worried about global warming? Just wait.” He sets the remote down on the coffee table, then leans back on the couch.


	20. Chapter 20

**ok this is copy/pasted from a doc i sent to jace @/azaiea on ao3 pls go look at his fics theyre really good like. if u like marvel then pls. look at his fics. hes so goode. too pure.**

**\---**

**FOUR WHOLE PAGES OF GAY BULLSHIT**

**IM SORRY FOR THE CHEESE OMG**

**IT SOUNDS WAY DEEPER THAN I INTENDED BUT U KNO**

 

You get a job at a Starbucks. It's about as shitty as it sounds, but you need to pay rent plus pay for school supplies because, hey, college fucking sucks. You make coffee for people, try not to maim rude customers, all while trying to deal with _Pete_ being a fucking _shit._ You owe the guy a lot, because he took you in when you had nowhere else to go, and he's been, in general, a good friend. That doesn't stop you from getting fed up with him, though.

In hindsight, this all sounds like a horribly written fan fiction by a seventeen year old who has nothing better to do with his time, but life kind of works that way sometimes, right? At this point, July, 2012, you've been working at the aforementioned Starbucks for approximately six months, when a fucking _god_ walks in. He's tall, handsome, clean cut, and everything you've ever dreamed of.

His voice is dreamy, as are his eyes, and he has a jawline sharp enough to kill a man, not to mention his cheekbones or that dumb fucking smile that comes across his face when he greets you and gives you his order.

He's confused when you ask him for his name, so you point at the cup, and he just curses under his breath before simply saying, “Uh, it's Dallon.”

You just give him a small smile in return before scribbling his name, along with your phone number, onto the cup. You also shoot Pete a dirty look when he winks and knocks into you with his hip a few minutes later. _Fuck off, Pete._

 

 

You wince a bit. You would love to go out for a drink, you would, but you're not going to be twenty-one for another nine months, and you misplaced your fake ID. You saw how this guy—Dallon—looked. He's obviously older than you. If you had to guess, you'd say mid-to-late twenties, maybe early thirties, but if he's in his early thirties, then he looks damn good.

Though, maybe you wouldn't get carded. You don't _have_ to be twenty-one to get _into_ a bar, right? You just have to be twenty-one to _drink._

 

 

Backtracking to the 'bad fan fiction written by a seventeen year old' comment, it's probably one of the best kisses you've ever had, if not _the._ You've lived in New York for a little over two years—plenty of time to go to innumerable bars and clubs to fuck around with every guy and girl you can. You've kissed a lot of people, and you feel as if this one shouldn't be any different, but it is, and you're not sure why.

 

 

 **Brendon:** PEEEEEEEEEEETE

 **Pete:** yes brendon can I help you

 **Brendon:** oka yyou know the ucte guy ive been talking abtou

 **Pete:** are you drunk

 **Brendon:** lil bit

 **Pete:** good job; anyways yes I know about the guy you NEVER shut up about him

 **Brendon:** fuck off

 **Brendon:** I kissed him

 **Pete:** how… extreme

 **Brendon:** do I need to gdig up the fuckng MSN conversatiosn from 2007 when u and patrick got togehters because you did NOT shut theu fck up for like a MONTH

 **Pete:** okay 1 shut up and 2 go drink some water and eat something then go to bed we can gossip tomorrow

 **Brendon:** ur no fun :(

 

 

Monday goes about the same as it usually does. Every single fucking customer is hungover and grumpy, not to mention the fact that you are as well thanks to _Pete_ letting you drink way too much while you were giving him all the details of what had happened on Saturday.

 

 

[dongers invited mr weak 2 his apartment to hang out if u couldnt like… gather that]

 

The second Saturday happens and it's pretty nice. He shows up around eleven, bearing Chinese take-out, and you're about ready to drop to your fucking knees to suck him off right then and there, because you haven't been able to afford Chinese take-out in _months._

 

 

Pete's up your ass the second you show up to work on Monday. You made sure to cover the hickeys up with make up _specifically_ because of him, but he still corners you in the back, saying, “Somebody looks fucked out.” He's leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, with a shit-eating look settling onto his face.

He has a radar for shit like this. If one thing happens in your love life he _immediately_ knows, and wants details. You don't even try to defend yourself. “Yeah.”

“I want details. Who, what, when, where, why, _and_ positions.”

“Pete, we open in half an hour and we have a bunch of shit to set up.”

“You can talk while we do that. I _need_ to know.”

You just sigh at him before managing to push past him and out to the main part of the shop. (Well, he isn't really that hard to push past, since he's 5'4”, and you're 5'10.”)

 

 

He sits on the opposite end of the couch, kicking his shoes off, before turning to face you a bit. He goes to say something, but you cut him off; “Don't lead me on. Don't make me think we're something that we aren't. I don't give a shit what your intentions are, but don't break my heart. Sorry for the cheese.”

“ _Well,_ if you would let me _talk,_ I was going to inform you that my wife left me.”

 

 

“You know, I've never met a stockbroker before, so can I ask how it even works? Like, what do you do?”

[corny paragraph that I need to rewrite but essentially mr weak is like “yeah business man stuff gotta act like an asshole lol”]

You're taken aback. “Why?”

He does the hand gesture for money, and you make an 'o' shape with your mouth. “I don't really like letting people get too close because of that. Hey, um, can I ask something?”

“Hit me. Figuratively.”

“You're not using me or anything, are you?”

“For money? If I was, you'd know. You can keep your money. I don't want it. I don't like leeching or taking from people unless I absolutely _have_ to, and no offense, but like you said, we don't know each other _that_ well. Shit; I've known Pete since I was fourteen and I'm just _barely_ comfortable enough to ask him for twenty bucks if I'm short on rent or something.”

“How old are you? You've—uh—you never actually told me.”

“Twenty.”

His eyes widen ridiculously. “You're _twenty_ and you let me buy you fucking _alcohol?_ You _asshole.”_ He socks you in the arm, playfully, of course. “I could've gotten arrested or something.”

“But you didn't, and it was like, two months ago.”

 _“Oh my god.”_ He groans.

 

 

The week after _the moment,_ [its nothing major literally just. Lotta cheese] he pops up at your apartment and kind of just face plants onto your couch. You're in the kitchen, making yourself something to eat, when he walks in, and, you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little concerned. You bring him a glass of water and ask him if he's alright. He holds up a finger, signaling to give him a bit, and you just say, “Alright,” quietly before going back to your kitchen to resume making yourself a meal.

[this is my aesthetic in a paragraph tbh]

 

 

ok look this next part is funny and this has 2 go a bit long bc theres another part after it that I gotta put in bc jokes and its mr duns 10k appearance so u kno

 

“Does that mean you're not doing anything for Thanksgiving?”

He thinks for a minute. “Huh. I guess it does.”

“Pete's kind of having a little party or whatever. It's not a college party kind of thing, but a few of his friends, plus me, are going to be there, and if you want, you could come with me? I'm sure he wouldn't mind. But uh, he's kind of insufferable, and he's probably going to tease us a bit.”

“You're insufferable and _you_ tease me. I think I can deal.”

You hit him in the leg with your foot. “Yeah, but we're like, an unofficial couple. I'm allowed to be insufferable and tease you.”

He gives you some dumb, sarcastic 'go fuck yourself, Brendon' grin, but leans over to kiss you anyways.

“Quit kissing me and tell me if you want to go.”

“Yes, I'll go to Pete's party with you.”

 

Surprisingly, Pete doesn't say anything to you on Thanksgiving. He talks to you and all, but he isn't up your ass with questions. That doesn't mean he isn't watch you or Dallon like a hawk, though.

The second you're through the door, Pete's kid is running towards you, pretty much screaming, “Uncle Brendon!” He all but knocks you over as he catapults himself into your arms.

“Hey, little dude.” Pete's kid is pretty cool. You're not really a big fan of children, since they're loud and messy, but given that you lived with Pete for four months or so, you had time to bond with his kid a little bit. Also, babysitting was your rent. (You still babysit sometimes, but not very often. Usually, either he or Patrick are home at any given time.) (Dallon's a little confused on why Pete has a kid even though he's with a man, and you end up whispering, “I'll explain later,” into his ear.)

You carry his kid on your hip until you're standing in front of Pete. You set him down, and make a comment about the kid getting heavy. You get a quick bro-hug from Pete, and Dallon gets an awkward handshake. Well, it's awkward on Dallon's end. If you hadn't noticed, yet, he's a pretty awkward guy.

 

There's a bit of a _meme_ in your friend group. You've known Pete since you were a freshman, and by extension, you've known Patrick and Josh about the same time. All _three_ of them have spent the past two years trying to get you and Josh's boyfriend, Tyler, you believe, to meet, but every single fucking time it's about to happen, either he, or _you,_ have something come up, and it doesn't happen. Thanksgiving 2012 isn't an exception.

This time, the excuse is, “He's in Lebanon.”

 

You think Dallon was expecting there to actually be a traditional meal, but, no, he was wrong. His expression when pizza shows up basically says, “Huh.”

Since there's six of you, the pizzas don't last very long, and Dallon disappears for a bit to go get take-out. _That's_ when Pete starts in on the questioning. “How long?”

“How long _what?”_

“You know what I mean.”

“A few months? Roughly. We aren't really official yet. Together, sure, but we aren't _officially_ an item.”

“Why not?”

“Why couldn't you ask me this sh—stuff when we're not in front of your kid, your fiance, and Josh?”

“I like how I'm just 'Josh.'”

You give him a look.

“You act as if you don't know that I gossip.”

“You—you're the worst, I swear to God.”

 

[fast forward 2 new years]

 

Josh throws the New Year's party. He's a mysterious guy, and you're not sure what he or his mysterious boyfriend do for a job, but whatever the hell it is, well, it must be a fucking good job, because their house is probably pretty high up there in the list of nicest houses you've ever seen.

 

[theres stuff between this but ur getting the funnies fight me]

 

You're bored, you're inebriated, and you _thought_ most everyone was distracted by _someone_ (Josh) standing on their coffee table, without a shirt, preaching about taxes. Of course, the odd one out happened to be, you guessed it, Pete motherfucking Wentz. “Yo, Brendon, it isn't midnight yet!”

 

[HERE WE GO REST OF THE MEME JOKE]

[I HAVENT GOTTEN TO THE PART AFTER THIS BUT IM WAITING 4 THE PERFECT MOMENT TO POP UP AND SURPRISE ME]

 

Anyways, long story short, this is how you meet one of the biggest assholes of all time. You'd confided in Dallon, which is a given at this point, he made a few calls, and had, essentially, hooked you up with a manager/talent representative.

The guy is… weird. He's a lanky fucker, probably about the same height as you, give or take a few inches, and, as mentioned, he's just an _asshole._ He gets his paperwork done, though, and he's good at his job, so you're able to tolerate him.

 

“You'll have to go to Italy for this, but I think it's the one you should go with. That's a fucking _popular_ magazine, and you're going to have modeling agencies having all out wars over you. If you wanted a career in modeling, then you, sir, have got one.” He's scribbling a few things down in a notebook, then he's looking up at you again. “Are you going to do it?”

“I can't really go alone, or I totally would. I don't know Italian and I have no clue how to navigate through a foreign country.” You're rambling a bit, and fidgeting.

“...You're acting as if I wouldn't go with you.” He's squinting, and he looks genuinely _confused._ “You're basically an infant, and to be frank, I don't trust you alone in Europe. No offense.”

“Thanks, true, and none taken. My responses, respectively.”

 

You decide that, aside from being an asshole, Tyler Joseph is also one of the weirdest people you've met. Usually, if you're going to be on an airplane for long periods of time, you'd wear pajamas, or sweatpants, but not _fucking Prada._ Hell—Even Dallon, who _rarely_ dresses down for anything, wouldn't pull this shit.

“You do realize we're going to be on the flight for like, eight hours, right?” You're asking the second he shows up at the house to retrieve you.

“I'm aware, but I like to come off as intimidating. I have to compensate for my lack of muscle mass.”

You scoff at him.

 

You get two days to fix your sleeping patterns before you're scheduled for a photo-shoot. You also decide that you hate Tyler Joseph on the third day, when his alarm goes off at four, and he _literally_ drags you out of your bed. He gave you three chances to get up before grabbing you by the feet and pulling you out of bed. The look you give him, well, it should've killed him on the spot.

 

Ok since my gay ass didnt actually write the part like ill put it in later but tyler n dongers are chatting or whatever and they have a realization like

 

 **dongers:** wait. Wait wait wait

 **tyjo:** yh what get to it what are u getting at

 **dongers:** are you _the guy_

 **tyjo:** what do u mean

 **dongers:** the boyfriend

 **tyjo:** WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT _WAIT_

 **tyjo:** ARE U THE FUCKIN GUY MR DUN HAS BEEN HARASSING ME ABOUT MEETING FOR THE PAST 3 YRS

 **dongers:** YES oh my god hes gonn kill us

 **tyjo:** dude dont tell him we've met like wait for him to figure it out I want 2 see the look of DONE on his face + I dont want 2 give him that satisfaction

**dongers:**

**tyjo:** shut the fuck up I set myself up for that but shut the fuck up


	21. part one of the second or third draft of cosmetic

**PART ONE OF THE 2ND OR 3RD DRAFT OF COSMETIC lmao**

**its wild and like. idk how different it is from the one i posted**

 

_**July, 2012. New York City.** _

 

You'd gotten a job at a Starbucks. When you look back on this, it sounds like some bad fan fiction, but hey, life kind of works that way sometimes. He had walked in, and your first thought had immediately been, _“Fuck. He's cute.”_

He places his order, and you ask for his name, so, you know, you can write it on the cup. He's confused until you're pointing at the cup, then he's saying, “Oh, shit, sorry, I'm fuckin' tired this morning. Dallon. My name.”

You're feeling a bit cheeky as you write your phone number on the cup as well. When he gets his drink, he's raising his eyebrows at you, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he sits at a window seat, and watches the people outside walk around.

Pete knocks into you with his hip, and winks at you. You feel your face go red as you get back to work. _Fuck off, Pete._

 

That night, when you get home to your shitty apartment, and after you've showered and planted yourself on your couch to use the internet, you get a text.

 

 **(xxx) xxx-xxxx:** hey, are you the kid who wrote his number on my coffee this morning?

 **Brendon:** probably

 **Dallon:** you're a little presumptuous.

 **Brendon:** well, what can a guy do? if I see a cute guy, i've gotta hit on him, you know?

 **Dallon:** seems reasonable.

 

You grin a little bit. This guy seems nice. You respond to him with a joke, and that leads the two of you into a conversation that lasts for nearly five hours. It probably would've lasted longer, but either of you had to go to bed. He's a stock broker, apparently, which you think is kind of cool.

 

Dallon shows up again the next day, and Pete's giving you a shit-eating look. While you're making Dallon's drink, the two of you pick up a decent conversation. Pete lets you take a break so you can sit with Dallon and chat with him more. Pete winks at you again when you take your apron off and when you follow Dallon to the window seat he'd been at yesterday.

Dallon's telling you a small story, and you're taking in his appearance. He's wearing a suit, and he looks damn fine in it. His hair is a little messy, and the sunshine that's filtering through the slightly dirty window is reflecting off of his blue eyes, and intensifying the color. The two of you talk for about fifteen minutes before he has to leave. On his way out, he squeezes your shoulder, and gives you a quick nod. _He's awkward. Lovely. I love awkward guys. Fuck._

 

About a week later, you get a text. It's Friday, and the text is from Dallon.

 

 **Dallon:** hey guess what

 **Brendon:** What

 **Dallon:** I paid off my student loans yesterday :^)

 **Brendon:** Yo dude that's fucking sweet

 **Dallon:** u wanna go out for a drink

 **Dallon:** my treat, of course

 **Brendon:** hell yeah

 

You get taken to a bar that looks like it should be skeevy, but it's in one of the better parts of New York, and the prices make you cringe, but hey, you're not paying, so you take advantage and have a few of your favorites. Your tastes are too expensive for your wages, sadly.

 

The… date? Well, probably not a date, but it goes good, at the very least. You totally don't get a little tipsy, and you definitely don't tell him that you're not actually twenty-one yet. Dallon calls you a cab, and rides with you, just to make sure you get home safe. It's… kind of sweet, if you're honest. He walks you up to your apartment, and when the two of you are standing outside of the door, he leans down, and then he's kissing you. It isn't a long kiss, but it wasn't overly short either. His cheeks are a little red when he pulls away.

Your lips feel like they're burning, but you pull him back down for another kiss, and you sigh, internally, in satisfaction because, hey, you're kissing a cute boy and he's kissing you back. Well, more like cute _man._ He's definitely not a _boy_.

You've kissed quite a few people, especially given you've been at a slew of parties and clubs over the past two and a half years, meaning quite a few one-night stands, but, of course, backtracking to the 'bad fan-fiction' remark, this is probably one of, if not the bestkiss you've ever shared with a person. The two of you stand there kissing for a few more minutes before the cab driver is honking, and he's laughing a little bit, saying, “That's probably a sign I should go home.”

 

 **Brendon:** Hey you know the cute stock broker guy

 **Pete:** the whole fucking world knows dude u never shut up abt him

 **Brendon:** fuck off I kissed him

 **Pete:** wow. a kiss. how……... extreme.

 **Brendon:** shut up it's not as if you're the one who didn't shut up for a week after kissing patrick like four years ago; I still have screenshots from the MSN conversation

 **Pete:** y'know im gonna beat u up one day >:(

 

When you go to bed that night, you can't get the way Dallon's slightly chapped lips felt against yours out of your mind, or the way he looked after he'd kissed you. The red cheeks, fond, friendly eyes, and the nervous, awkward, and far too cute grin; it's just burned into your memory, and you're probably never going to get rid of it. _It's_ pretty gay. Like, super fucking gay.

 

You're off on Saturdays, thank god. When you wake up, you have two texts from Dallon.

 

 **Dallon:** im sorry about kissing you

 **Dallon:** I think I was out of line

 **Brendon:** don't worry about it. youre pretty good at kissing

 **Brendon:** you might want to invest in some chapstick, though.

 

Your day is a little boring. You text Dallon and Pete throughout the day, and you go grocery shopping. You don't have a lot of money, and you're only able to pick up a crate of strawberries, a pack of baby carrots, and like, five Lean Cuisines. You feel a little salty about your parents kicking you out, because hey, you miss decent food. (You also figure you could've chosen a wiser place to live instead of New York, but you have friends here, and you like the city itself anyways.)

You're worried about starting college. You still have a few months until the semester starts. You need to pick your major, but you have no fucking clue what you actually want to major in. You've been thinking about English, but, honestly, that's the most stereotypical job you could fucking get. Maybe you should get a degree in business and learn how to invest in the stock market.

 

Monday is… something. It's the usual. Well, at least for the first hour or so. You get up at the crack of fucking dawn, take a quick shower, then get your ass to Starbucks to work on getting everything in order before opening the doors for the day. Pete does beat you to work, for once, and you make him help you, much to his dismay.

Dallon shows up about an hour after opening, _as usual,_ and you get to work on his usual order, while chatting him up at the same time. He slides his payment over the counter, then a few seconds later, he's pulling another bill out of his wallet, saying, “Your tip.”

You make eye contact for a quick second, before taking the bill, and _almost_ dropping his fucking drink. “You do realize you just handed me a fucking hundred dollar bill, right?”

He shrugs. “Keep it.”

It's fucking weird, but _that_ becomes the usual, and you're _definitely_ not complaining about the extra five hundred you're making a week. You'll take what you can get, especially if it pays your bills and covers your rent, while leaving you with a little extra money to spend on yourself.

 

The first time the two of you screw around, it's about a month after the kiss. Long story short, he'd kind of just showed up, meaning he'd asked if he could come over, and although it wasn't planned, it happened. You're pretty sure either of you had intentions to just hang out, but your intentions change pretty quick when you take in his appearance.

His hair—it's a little messy, similar to the first time you saw him, and the suit he was wearing was just a little disheveled. He made it work, though. The smile that comes across his face whenever something funny happens on TV is filled with teeth, and the laugh he lets out sounds like music to you. He's just so _pleasant._

He had just been looking at you, and saying something, probably making a snide comment about the show the two of you were watching, and he'd just _stopped_ mid-sentence. Something on his face kind of falters, and he asks, “Can I kiss you?” He's looking at your lips, and you spiritually smirk.

“Yeah.” He's leaning over, pressing his lips to yours, and letting out a breath that he'd been holding for whatever reason. When he pulls away, he looks a little embarrassed, and you think he's probably getting ready to get the hell out of dodge before you're pulling him back in for another kiss.

His lips are still a bit chapped, but he makes up for it with _skill._ You know he's older than you, and he makes it obvious with the way he kisses you, with the way his lips move against yours, and the minute, weak groans he's drawing from your throat. He's fucking spectacular at kissing, and you're trying your best to keep up with him.

He puts a hand under one of your knees at some point, and pulls you onto his lap. He's a little hard, and you try to subtly roll your hips to tease him. He groans a little bit, so you do it again. Your shirt comes off, and his hands are instantly on you, running up and down your sides, over your shoulders, down your back.

His shirt comes off pretty soon after, and you can't help but to stare. He's muscular. He's not buff, but he's toned, and you can't get over the beads of sweat that are already starting to drip down his chest. (He does have the smallest amount of pudge on his stomach, though, and it's super fucking adorable.)

You so desperately want to pepper kisses across his chest, marking him up with bruises and bite marks, but you settle for placing your hands on his shoulders and leaning in for another kiss.

He puts his hands on your hips, then they're on your thighs, before he's tugging at the waistband of your jeans, and looking you in the eye as if to ask permission. (You nod.)

His hands are shaking a little as he unbuttons your jeans, and after they're unzipped, he kind of just stares, and you think he's trying to decide what to do. It's kind of cute. You feel a little bad for thinking that, and you can tell he has no clue whatsoever on what to do, nor how to initiate anything, but it's still _cute._

You climb off of him for a second, and just a second, to take your jeans off, before resuming your previous position on his lap. You're only in your underwear now, and he has his head back and his eyes closed. You're a little awkward, but you ask, “Is this like—you know—your first time with a dude?”

He shakes his head. “No. I fucked around with a couple of guys when I was in college. It's been a while, though.” His head comes back up from where it'd been on the back of the couch, and honestly, you're pretty sure he's staring at your dick. “Can I touch you?” His hands are on your thighs, moving slightly, and they feel as if they're burning holes into your skin.

“Yeah.” His hands are warm, especially the one that's palming you through the thin material of your boxers. He looks beautiful. Cheeks red, lips parted just a bit, hair messy and disheveled beyond belief; he's a mess. A hot mess.

You're whining a little bit, and even though you feel like he's teasing you, you know he isn't, or, well, he isn't intending to. He's still trying to figure out what the hell he's doing, and, again, it's kind of cute. He ends up tugging your boxers down a bit so he can actually touch your dick.

He gives you one painfully slow and experimental tug that causes you to let out an obscene noise you honestly didn't know you could even make. He does it again, and you can tell he's gaining at least a little bit of confidence, due to the increasingly smug look he gets with each stroke. His other hand ends up threading itself through your hair, and he's pulling you into another kiss.

You break the kiss for a few seconds to say, “You should take your pants off,” then he's nodding in agreement, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his slacks, before he lifts his hips up a bit as he pulls both his slacks and his underwear off, and, oh god, he's fucking _hung._ (Okay, his dick isn't ridiculously huge, but it's definitely the biggest one you've seen up close.)

He needs a minute or two to get his nerves under control before it goes any further, and you're alright with it. You definitely get it. You don't want to make him uncomfortable, and given what you assume is a pretty large age difference, you don't know why you're the one worried about taking advantage of the other. “Dallon?” Your voice is softer than you'd expected as you place one of your hands on his shoulder.

He takes a deep breath, and looks you in the eye. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright? We don't—we don't have to do this. Not if you don't want to. Like, I'll happily go back to watching Parks and Rec.”

“I do. I mean, I want to. I'm just super nervous for some reason.”

“I mean, we're already naked, and I kind of have a raging hard-on?” You supply him with this.

He looks at you again, and he's laughing a little bit, with a shy grin working its way onto his face. “I do too, honestly.”

You look down, then look back up at him with raised eyebrows. “Really? I couldn't tell.”

It takes a while, and you kind of have to tell Dallon what to do, since he's a little clueless, but _eventually,_ you get taken to pound town.

He's behind you, and, honestly, he's gripping your hips hard enough that you'll be surprised if you aren't left with bruises. You have your face pressed into one of your pillows and, yeah, this is pretty fucking great.

It starts off sweet and slow, but, eventually, he picks up the pace and—oh shit—you weren't prepared for it. You let out some embarrassing high pitched noise that makes your face go even redder than it already is. You have a relatively deep voice, so, you know, that was a little… jarring.

Dallon doesn't seem like the type, to you at least, but he's like, super fucking vocal, and he's _loud._ All of the noises he's letting out are just… Well, they're hot, and you're having a hard time focusing, considering you're essentially getting your brains fucked out.

He's starting to lose his rhythm, then he's letting out a string of curses, and you feel his hand wrap around your dick. The next thing you know, you're coming with some weird mixture of a shout and a grunt, and he's following a minute or two later.

After he's tied the condom off, he lays next to you on your bed with an arm lazily placed across his stomach, before turning his head to make eye contact with you. His face is red, and he's still breathing heavily as he moves the arm across his stomach to rest his hand on the side of your face to lead you into a gentle kiss. “I think I can honestly say that was the _best_ sex I've ever had.”

 

Pete is a fucking mystery. He has a radar for anything having to do with relationships. The _second_ you walk into the fucking Starbucks, he says, “Somebody looks fucked out.”

You just blink at him. Arguing is useless. He _knows._ You don't respond to him as you walk into the back to put your jacket up and slip on the trademark green apron.

He's blocking your way out, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and mouth set into a stern line. “I want details. Tell me everything; who, what, when, where, why, _and_ positions.”

“Pete, we open in ten minutes. We don't have _time_ for this conversation.”

“We can make it thirty minutes. I want _details.”_

“No.” You scoff at him and manage to shove past him. (Well, he's actually not hard to shove past, given he's, like, 5'4”, and you're 5'10”.) “I'd be willing to discuss it _outside_ of work, but, dude, I have some coffee to make. Let me live.”

 

Dallon doesn't show up, and although you're a little bummed out over it, you can kind of understand. Actually, you can totally understand. You're not sure if you'd even be able to look him in the eye without going red in the face and popping a hard on. Of course, though, this doesn't mean that you didn't fidget all day, waiting for him to pop in, and trying not to be _too_ disappointed when he didn't.

 

Pete drags you to his apartment after work, and pretty much forces you to talk to him, especially given _Patrick_ won't be home for another hour or so. “Brendon, give me details. I live for this shit.”

“Why are you always interested in my sex life?”

“Because I'm in a monogamous relationship and I like to live vicariously through you.”

“… Fair enough. Alright—everyone in the entire world knows about the cute stock broker guy.”

“You _didn't.”_ His jaw drops, and his eyes widen.

“Look, it just kind of… happened. We were watching TV then we were kissing then we were fucking.” Your voice? Incredulous. Definitely incredulous.

“How does sex just kind of happen?”

“Oh my god. It's not like he came over and asked to fuck the second he walked in.”

“So, were the two of you just watching TV, then, _bam,_ dicks out?”

“Essentially, yeah.”

 

Dallon starts showing up at your apartment more and more. Well, not so much as showing up, but more like he texts you and asks if he can come over, then you say that, yes, he can come over, the two of you end up screwing around, and then he has to leave.

He was upfront after the first time, and made sure you were well aware that he had a wife. It goes against your better judgment, and honestly, you don't condone cheating, especially after the Ryan Ross Incident (you don't even want to get into that, good lord), but you don't break it off.

You like how his hands feel on your body, running down your chest and your back, to your hips and your thighs. You like how his mouth feels when he's sucking bruises into your neck and your collar bones, and you like the kisses he plants all over your body.

He makes you feel as if you're royalty when the two of you sleep together, and, honestly, you shouldn't be getting attached, because you're probably going to get your heart broken, but for whatever reason, this feels like it's more than a fling.

 

Near the end of August, you're sprawled out on your shitty futon when your doorbell rings. It's a Saturday, and, let's be real, who the fuck is at your shitty apartment on a _Saturday?_ You're expecting Pete, maybe even Patrick, possibly Josh if he's dying or something, but, no, it's Dallon. He's soaking wet, and he has a bag of what you think is Chinese take-out. “It's… raining.”

“Wow, I am just… floored. I would never have guessed. C'mon, I'll get you a towel.” You walk into the apartment, and instruct him to close the door behind him, since you don't need to let whatever minimal heat you had left in your apartment back out. (You're a cold person. You almost constantly have the heater on.)

He thanks you as you hand him the towel, and you wave him off. It's common courtesy. Once you're re-situated on your shitty futon, he's setting the food down on the six foot stretch of counter space that separates the kitchen and the living room as if he lived there himself. It's kind of endearing in a way.

“How was work? Like, yesterday. I didn't get the chance to talk to you.” you ask around a mouthful of chicken.

“It was there. Made hella commission.”

“How much do you even make from doing shit like that?”

“You really want to hear?” He's chewing slowly, and raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, dude. I make, like, two dollars above minimum wage, then whatever I get in tips. Let me vicariously live through you.”

He chuckles. “I pulled roughly five grand out of my ass.”

And that's when you fucking choke on your chicken. Once you're done with your coughing fit, you ask if he's serious, and he just nods.

“I'm a fucking spectacular stock broker, dude.”

“Wow, Jesus Christ. Want to be my sugar daddy?” You're mostly kidding. Mostly.

It's his turn to choke on his food from the sudden intake of breath he took before an attempt to laugh. You laugh at him, though, because he looks ridiculous. “I'd offer, but I'm not about that life. I'm not using you for sex then giving you money. It's basically prostitution.”

“Keep your money. I don't want it. I start college in a few weeks anyways. Maybe I'll get a degree in something useful, who knows.”

“I'm assuming you don't know what you're majoring in.”

“Yep. I have no clue.”

“Engineering is a good one. So's science. I'd say English, but do you really want to be a fuckin' teacher?”

“God, no. Kids are cool and all, but I'm not dealing with them for upwards of ten hours a day. Now watch me, in four years I'll have a degree in English.”

Dallon snorts. “I'm surprised I made it through college. I had a few scholarships, but it still wasn't enough to pay for all of it. Surprisingly enough, though, I went back for another degree.”

“I have a few, but they definitely won't cover everything. I have a little extra money right now, though, so if I can, I'm going to _try_ to avoid student loans.” He nods, and a few minutes of silence later, you say, “You know, we could be having an interesting conversation, but instead we're talking about fuckin' college.”

“College can be interesting, young one.”

You snort. “Yeah, how old are you, gramps?”

“Definitely not thirty.”

“By that, you mean you're thirty, don't you?” Your tone is monotonous, and you're giving him a flat look.

He nods sheepishly. “Sorry if that creeps you out.”

“I mean, I'm twenty, so I'd figure it'd be weirder for you.” You shrug as you shovel more rice into your mouth.

He shrugs as well. “Not really. It doesn't feel weird.”

 

An hour of Chinese food and idle chatter later, you're sitting on his lap, as usual, eating up every single bit of attention that he's giving you through his kisses and the feather-light touch of his hands on your body. He's gentle this time, which, for some reason, surprises you at first. It's not like you're _not_ gentle, but you're a kid, and you're horny, so most of your sexual encounters are at least a _little_ desperate.

 

Pete flips you shit the next day when you show up with hickeys, which results in a series of middle fingers and fuck offs. Dallon pops in, the two of you chat, and he leaves you another big tip. That's just about how your weeks go. Pete cracks a joke about Dallon being a sugar daddy, and you seriously say, “We've talked about it, actually.”

Pete snorts caramel cappuccino through his nose, and you make fun of him for it.

 

Saturdays start becoming his choice day to show up without any warning, and, for the most part, you don't really mind it, because he usually comes bearing food, and given that you're a poor college student, you'll take what you can get. (It's the one day he can leave his house for more than eight hours without his wife questioning him.) Mostly the days are filled with lazy kissing and even lazier sex.

The sex, after and including the first time, wasn't _intimate,_ or at least at first. The dynamic just changed over time, you guess. Of course, you're documenting this from far in the future, since all of this is basically just a story of your life, and you're kind of breaking the fourth wall right now, but do you give a shit? Nope. You don't.

Anyways, to the point—at first it was just _fucking._ It was the kind of sex you had with one night stands—quick, dirty, to the point, with minimal bullshit and, no pun intended, but, absolutely no dicking around. You're not sure when this happened, but he slowly starts being more _gentle_ and _intimate_ about it. He starts taking his time, and it's weird for you.

You've never been used to people being so _caring_ (you'd say loving, but, come on, you hadn't known him that long) and it takes _you_ a while to start opening up and trusting him. He basically starts worshiping your body in bed, pressing kisses all over, dropping sly compliments here and there, and in general just praising you. You can't tell if he does it to get you worked up, or if he's genuine about it, but you try not to think about it in favor of not getting your feelings hurt.

You're not really one for blunt compliments or sentimentality in general. You're quiet, and you're more into just being physically close to him. Kissing, cuddling, hugging, the whole works. He can almost read you like a book, and, for the most part, words aren't really needed.

Okay, okay, you're a sappy and corny piece of shit.

 

Near the end of the next month, when you go to check your bank account after buying textbooks, you, apparently, have an extra five thousand dollars. You're at work when you see this, and you throw your phone on the counter. One of Pete's friends, Josh, is covering for him that day, and in a fashion similar to Pete, he just looks up at you with raised eyebrows. “You alright, dude?”

“I had thirty dollars in my bank account—but—fuck, look at this.” You motion him over, and his jaw hits the fucking floor when he sees.

“What the hell, dude?”

And that's when Dallon walks in. He acts oblivious as he tells you his usual order, and pulls out the money needed to pay for it, plus his usual tip, and you just slide your phone over to him. “Dallon, _what the fuck?_ ” You know it was him; he's the only person you know with that kind of money. Added, his name was in your transaction history.

He shrugs, and acts like he doesn't know what you're talking about.

You frown, and make his usual order before pulling him aside. “Dallon, I can't accept this. That's way too fucking much money.”

“I make upwards of a million dollars a year after taxes.”

“Bullshit.”

“Do you want me to show you my pay stubs?” He's giving you a pointed look. “Consider it a gift, and buy yourself something nice.”

“I have to pay you back. This—it's a lot.”

 

You get an email just as you're about to walk into your apartment.

 

_**Dallon Weekes** _ [ _ **dlwks@aol.com** _ ](mailto:dlwks@aol.com)

_**S**_ **ubject:** Explanation

 

Sorry about the money thing. Think of it as a gesture—a token of my esteem. I'm absolutely terrible at expressing affection.

 

_Dallon._

 

 _Cheeky fuck._ You sigh at your phone, and toss it onto the couch as you walk into your apartment. Your feet ache from walking around campus all evening, and your back is a little sore from your fucking textbooks. _I'm already making an extra twenty grand a year just from his damn tips, but_ five grand _out of nowhere? He's ridiculous._

You head straight to the bathroom and strip out of your clothes. You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your hair is a mess, and you're looking a little too skinny. You haven't had the time to take care of yourself, and you're just _exhausted._ You let out a yawn before climbing into your shower, and cringing at the shitty water pressure. You've lived here for about four months, but you're still not used to the water pressure.

The warm water feels good, and you didn't realize your hands or your feet were even cold, but they start warming up considerably. When you're out of the shower, you respond to Dallon. It's not an overly elaborate response; it's, literally, “It's fine.”

 

You get a text message from Dallon right as you sit down with a reheated slice of leftover pizza.

 

 **Dallon:** I got in a fight with my wife

 **Dallon:** she kicked me out of the house for the night

 **Dallon:** can I come over or something

 **Brendon:** yeah; are you alright

 **Dallon:** kind of not really. sorry

 

Dallon's at your apartment about half an hour later. His eyes are red, and a little puffy, so either he's been smoking a lot of weed, or he's been crying. You pull him into a hug once the two of you are in the apartment, and either of you hold it for a few minutes.

You end up on your couch, and he's using your lap as a pillow. He's looking up at you, and you're playing with his hair a little bit. You can feel the sadness just radiating from him. “Are you alright?” You don't like seeing him like this. Normally, he's all smiles and sunshine, but this doesn't feel right. You don't like it.

He takes a deep breath. “I don't know. Can I just—can I talk for a while, and can you listen? You don't—you don't need to respond. I just—I'm upset.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I'm confused right now, I think. I'm gay, and I always have been, but I was pressured into getting married at such a young age, and I was too dumb to say anything about it. I mean, I love my wife, I do, but not like I should.

“It's just—okay, I like you. A _lot_. And this—this is how I _should_ feel. And I _want_ to feel that way about my wife but I just—I can't. It feels so _forced._ ” You can see the tears in his eyes again, and when he blinks they're rolling off of his cheeks. You wipe at the corner of his eyes with your sleeve before he continues. “She's starting to notice it, and I just—I can't hide it. I've been trying for so long to pretend to be some straight, clean cut guy, but I'm—I'm not.”

You nod. You kind of want to cry too. You feel bad for him, but you don't say as much. He doesn't need your pity. You run a hand through his hair again, and he kind of leans into it.

“Our marriage has been falling apart for so long. It's just—I don't think it's healthy. I don't think it has been for a while. We don't talk to each other, and I just—there's no _love._

 _“_ When I look at you, I want to like, hold your hand and shit, and hug you, but I don't feel like doing those things with her, and I never really _have._ I've just done it out of necessity, and I thought that's how _everyone_ felt _,_ but it's not. I—I'm like, I'm feeling that shit for the first time in my life, and I should be feeling so fucking terrible, but I can't help but feel so _relieved_ about this.” He hiccups, and, yeah, he's full on crying now.

You end up with him pretty much just laying on top of you, and you let him cry into your chest. It's all just tragic, in a way. You can't even begin to imagine how it must feel to have to hide that part of yourself, especially for so long, and not knowing what _love_ feels like. You're not saying what the two of you have is love, but, he has a crush, and you know how crushes feel.

You know the thudding heart and butterflies in the stomach feel, and you know how it feels when the feelings are reciprocated. You really, _really,_ can't imagine feeling that for the first time at the age of _thirty,_ and you can't imagine how miserable it must feel to have that happen.

You don't say anything, but instead continue running your hand through his hair in some weird attempt to be comforting.

 

It takes him about half an hour, but he calms down, and you're in your kitchen making him some tea. “It's nothing fancy. Just, uh, Lipton.”

“That's the kind I buy.” His voice is wrecked. He's wrapped in your duvet, and he's wearing one of your old and oversized t-shirts and a pair of flannel pants, since he'd shown up in slacks and a dress shirt. You knew they weren't comfortable, so you made him change.

You put one ice cube in the tea so it doesn't burn the shit out of his mouth, and he thanks you once you give him the cup. You sit down next to him, and lean on him, with your head on his shoulder. He's sipping at the tea, and he's still talking. “This is more of a general thing, but a lot of the people in my life, like, they think I'm some emotionless asshole.”

That takes you by surprise. “Seriously? That's—that's something.”

“You know how I have, uh, money, right? I've had so many people try using me for that, and I'm like—I just—I get pissed off when people are like that, because I'm a fucking person, you know? I don't trust people very easily, and I guess I just come off as a prick, but people just _assume_ I'm like that all the time, with everyone, but I'm _not._ I'm just to a point that I don't trust people to _not_ use me. Added, I have my own fucking company, and I have to be all intimidating and _mean._ ”

“People are assholes. You're not an asshole, though. A smart-ass, sure, but definitely not an asshole. You're a genuinely nice guy, in my opinion at least. Also, I'm cold, so can we share the duvet?”

“Of course.” After he's wrapped the duvet around both of you, you take advantage of his warmth. He has an arm around you, and you're tucked into his side. He sighs after a few minutes, and in a small and just outright _vulnerable_ voice, he says, “I don't know what to do.”

“I think you should tell her. I mean, you probably shouldn't mention that we've been fucking around for two months, or really even mention me at all, but she deserves to know.”

“I know. I haven't had a reason to say anything up until now.” He shifts a little bit as he says that.

It doesn't click in your head when you ask him, “What's your reason?”

He holds you just a little bit tighter, and, _oh,_ that's what he meant. “You.”

“You sure I'm worth it?” You crane your head a bit to make eye contact with him. “I'm barely even an adult.”

“And I've been an adult for quite a while. I'm sure,” and then he's kissing you, and, okay, maybe having an affair with an older man isn't the wisest choice, but, of course, you don't give a shit. Whatever it is you have with him, it's special. No one has ever made you as nervous or as flustered as he does, and you've never felt so _strongly_ about a person before.

You haven't known him that long, and you'll be the first to admit you don't know him as well as you could, but something just _clicked_ almost as soon as you met him. There was, and still is, some weird chemistry that you really can't explain properly. The two of you don't fit together one hundred percent perfectly, _but_ either of you balance each other out, and it's… nice.

 

 

Getting yelled and screamed at is possibly the last thing on your to-do list. She was asking about why you're not _affectionate_ anymore, as if you ever _were,_ and why you're _gone_ all the time. She knows, like, she'd have to be blind to _not_ know, but you don't confirm or deny anything, and she doesn't specifically or bluntly ask, either.

All you can say is, “I'm sorry.” She doesn't like that response, and you feel like a child getting scolded for misbehaving at how she, herself, responds. You're kind of clammed up, mostly since you were caught off guard when she'd confronted you. All you wanted to do was drink tea and finish up some paperwork you had leftover from work that day. That's it.

Apparently that's not what God had planned, though. At some point, she's in tears, asking, “God, do you even _love_ me anymore?”

You're _offended._ Of _course_ you do, and you tell her as much. You don't tell her the next part, but you also don't love her like you should. It's more or less the friend kind of love; like, the kind of love you'd feel for a sibling or your best friend. You stand up, and you try going in for a kiss, but she _smacks_ you, and starts in on saying hurtful shit.

You just put a hand on your face, wipe at one of your eyes, then say something back, before she's telling you to get the fuck out, and you're grabbing your keys to obey the command.

 

Of course, you text Brendon, and once you get permission, you're driving to the shitty part of New York that he lives in. You must be a mess when you walk in, because you're being pulled into a very tight hug, and receiving a kiss.

He does what you ask him to do—he listens, and he doesn't give you any unsolicited advice. He's so _kind._ Or, well, he's at least nice to you. A good friend. You're just letting loose with your emotions, and you have to fight off the urge to kiss him. You've finally, after thirty years of being _alive,_ you've _finally_ caught a glimpse at what _love_ is supposed to feel like. You don't—you're not in love with him, and you don't think you'd go so far as to say you legitimately _love_ him, but, you're pretty sure you know the signs. You're infatuated, if anything.

Why do you want to be in a relationship with this—this _kid?_ You're not sure. He's a little young for you. Well, more than a little. You shouldn't _want_ this, though. You're married—you already have a life with someone, no matter how _miserable_ it is. You don't know if you're prepared to just—to throw it away on a whim, on the off chance things might work out with Brendon.

He tells you that you should tell her, and he's right. You should. It's not fair to hide something like this, like being _gay,_ but you don't know how to bring it up. How do you just—how do you drop something like that?

 

You spend a few weeks thinking it over, because honestly, if you don't do it now, you never will. She's anxious, as are you, when the two of you sit down at the kitchen table, under the guise of needing to _talk._

You sit there with your head in your hands for a while, trying to work up the courage to say it, out loud. She _knows_ you're losing your mind, but you don't think she knows _why._ You say it, very, _very_ quietly, at first; the slightest of whispers; “I'm gay.”

She doesn't hear you, and asks you to repeat yourself.

You look up, and meet her confused look with your terrified one. You open and close your mouth a few times, but nothing comes out.

“Just tell me what it is.”

“Promise me you wont hate me. Please.” It comes out almost as if it's some sort of broken plea, and you're shaking, your heart is racing, and you can hear your pulse in your ears. It's seemingly loud enough to drown out any other noise.

She takes one of your hands and promises.

You just—you kind of just blurt it. It wasn't getting done otherwise; “I'm gay.”

“Pardon?”

You can imagine how she's feeling. You think it's safe to assume she's having the same feeling of heart stopping, air rushing out of her lungs as if she just got socked in the stomach. You feel terrible, but— “I'm gay. I'm sorry, but, god, it feels so fucking good to say that.” You remove your hand from her grip and scrub your hands down your face.

 

 

It takes until mid-November for him to tell his wife and file for divorce. He's a little dejected the day he tells you, and honestly, you get it. They were together for—what—ten years, if not more—anyone would be upset to lose a relationship that'd lasted that long.

The friendship, or relationship, (you're not really sure) the two of you shared hadn't changed much since the one fight he'd had with his wife. (Other than the small crush you had beforehand increasing tenfold, if not more.)

He moves out, and buys a house in some well-to-do gated neighborhood of mansions. Well, maybe not a mansion, but the house he buys is huge in your eyes. You help him move furniture around in a few rooms, and you go shopping with him for groceries since he had no idea what he'd even need.

You're a little disappointed when you go home that day to your small, cold, and shitty apartment.

 

Dallon invites you over for Thanksgiving. You sit on the couch with him for the evening, sharing a pizza. “My parents usually invite me, and, y'know, over for Thanksgiving, but I think she might've told them about me being gay.” He looks sad, and you're feeling defensive. “Haven't really heard from them.”

“Mine kicked me out when I turned eighteen. I, uh, I lived with Pete for a while. He's actually not a bad roommate.”

Dallon's asking, “Why'd you move out, then?” around a mouthful of pizza.

“Imagine waking up every night around two to the sounds of two people, namely Pete and his boyfriend, fucking. Loudly.”

Dallon cringes. “Gross. I mean, it's not like we're exactly quiet, but at least you don't live with people.”

“ _You're_ the loud one. I'm quiet and proper.” You cross your legs and make a small 'hmph' noise as you look away.

“You're full of fucking shit, and you know it. I'll own up to being loud, but you are _not_ quiet.”

 

It's around eleven when the two of you are sitting on the patio, looking at the stars, and talking. You're smoking, and he's sipping at a bottle of beer that looks way too expensive to be rational. “I think I'm going to end up having to do student loans, or drop out, but of course, I'm not doing that, because I can't get anywhere without a degree. Tuition was way more than I thought it was going to be. Kind of regretting enrolling, to be honest. I feel like I should've waited a few years, but, I also think if I did that, I'd just keep putting it off. I just—I hate that I can't fucking get anywhere _without_ college. I can't go part time either, because I'd lose the grants and scholarships I have, and that would just put me in even more deep shit.” You're frowning, and you kick a pebble off of the patio.

“I can pay for it, if you want.” He's leaning forward a bit in the chair he's in, and, Jesus—

“That's not what I meant, dude. I'm just complaining; sorry.”

“I know that's not what you meant, but I'm offering anyways.”

“Why?” You're confused, and you're pretty sure the look on your face tells him as much.

He shrugs and averts his gaze to the ground. “I dunno. I just want you to be happy.”

“I'm—I'm fine, dude. I'm just stressed.”

“Sorry. I'm just—I'm in a position to where I can help, and I want to.”

“That's… Dallon, that's a lot.” You stub your cigarette out in the ash tray that you're pretty sure Dallon had bought specifically for you. “If I let you do this, I don't want you to make me feel like I owe you anything.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” He's _genuinely_ shocked. Either he's nice, or he's naive. “I've told you that doing shit like this is how I express appreciation or whatever.”

You're not really sure how to react, but your body thinks crying is the right response. You're frantically trying to wipe your eyes, and trying to stop crying, but Jesus, you're _touched._ You don't know how to handle someone being so _kind,_ and you even tell him as much when he asks. “Sorry. I'm not used to people being kind to me. Just—thanks.”

 

Work goes by like a breeze the next day. Dallon comes back around noon for a drink, and leaves you his daily tip. Once Dallon leaves again, Pete kind of corners you. “Dude, did he seriously give you five thousand dollars?”

You see Josh sitting in a corner, sipping at what you assume is black coffee because he apparently doesn't have the time for creamer or sugar, so you raise your voice slightly as you say, “Thank you, Josh, for telling Pete about the money.”

He gives you a slight nod of the head. _Asshole._

“He did. There really isn't much to say about it.” You shrug, and Pete looks a little miffed, but he doesn't say anything else.

 

Unsurprisingly, you end up at Dallon's on Christmas. Your parents had invited you home, oddly enough, but you're obviously still bitter about being kicked out, so you ignore it. Pete invites you to go to a party, and knowing him, there's just going to be loud music and booze, and you don't know anyone else aside from Dallon that you'd be willing to spend Christmas with, so, yeah. You're tired, and you'd rather _relax_ than party.

You ring his doorbell almost constantly for about half a minute because, honestly, you're freezing your ass off and he's taking too long to come retrieve you. When the door flies open, he's giving you this incredulous look. “I was taking a leak, asshole. You're not going to die.” He rolls his eyes, but invites you in anyways.

It's still a little early (eight in the morning) and you watch Dallon go through his morning routine. He's all over the fucking house, trying to find a pair of pants that _aren't_ slacks or sweatpants. You think he scours the house relentlessly for about forty minutes before giving up. “I'm not even seeing any of my family today; don't know why I'm bothering.” (He ends up in a pair of sweat pants, and a t-shirt that you think is yours, because it's way too tight on him.)

“Because I'm cute?” You supply.

“Yeah, but you see me almost every day, and you have, literally, seen every inch of my body so there's not a whole lot left for me to do in the, “Hey, I need to impress this cute boy” department. Do you want breakfast or anything?”

“If you would. I haven't had a chance to eat since yesterday.”

He sits down next to you, and looks you dead in the eye. “I will cook you breakfast, under _one_ condition.”

You make a small 'pff' noise at him. “Yeah? What's the condition?”

“I will cook you breakfast if, and only if, you kiss me, because I haven't had the chance to see you in a few days and I _really_ want to kiss you.”

You roll your eyes. “You could've just kissed me, dude. You don't have to bribe me with food.” You lean forward anyways, though, and press your lips to his.

 

He makes you a fucking _amazing_ omelet _._ Actually, he probably could've just given you a raw egg, and you would've just eaten it anyways, because, holy shit, you were _hungry._

 

Around noon, the two of you exchange a few presents. You'd gotten him a card with a heartfelt note on the inside, and an ugly sweater, since you didn't really know what else to get him.

As soon as he sees the sweater, he peels the shirt he has on off, then puts the sweater on. “This is fucking disgusting. I love it.”

“Thanks. Read the note, dude.”

 

_I enjoy your presence and you're a pretty good lay. Also, you're a good friend. Thanks I guess? This is fucking awkward please don't look at me. I'm going to blush like a middle schooler._

 

-Bren

 

He grins so fucking hard at the note that it makes you go red in the face, just as you'd expected. “I didn't really know what to get you, so I hope the card and the ugly as sin sweater suffice. I'll try to get you something better on your birthday I guess.” You're a little sheepish, and you're trying to avoid eye contact.

“Dude, I'm just glad you bothered to even get me anything. You don't have to worry about it.” You get pulled in for a quick kiss before hes giving you _your_ presents. You pray to god he didn't go overboard.

He'd gotten you a jacket that you assume is _really_ expensive, under the guise of, “You're always cold, so I figured a jacket would be practical.” The other gift is pair of decent ear buds, since you complained _one time_ about the ones you already had not being the best, like, two months ago.

 

You spend the night. When you wake up in the morning, you take the time to look at his face, He looks so peaceful. You feel rested just looking at him. His mouth is opened slightly, he's snoring, and it hits you for the millionth time that he's just—he's fucking beautiful.

He wakes up a few minutes after you do, and you're a little disappointed that you wont get to stare at his sleeping face anymore. “Morning.” His voice sounds groggy, and actually a little adorable for some reason.

You return the gesture, saying, “Morning,” back to him. Once he starts waking up a little more, he's starting to press kisses to your neck, and he has a hand under your shirt. You end up with his hips flush against yours, and he's rolling them against yours. You're too tired to try restraining the noises you're letting out.

You like having morning sex with him. It doesn't happen as often as you'd like, but either of you are always just a little tired, (given it usually happens within an hour of either of you waking up) and it's slow. You don't mind the slowness. You like how he hovers over you, making sure you're doing alright, and that you're okay with everything that's happening. It's common courtesy, if anything, but you still think it's sweet, and you actually really appreciate it.

He kisses you a lot… _during_. Okay, okay, you kid, _but_ he does you a lot in general, and you tend to notice it more in the morning. It's not always on the lips, but he just likes to kiss you. It's cute, and you think other people would get annoyed by it, but you don't. You don't mind it when you're sitting on the couch (either here or at your apartment) and he starts kissing your neck, and not in a sexual way but more in an affectionate way, or when the two of you are in public and he gives you a quick peck on the cheek or a smooch on the lips. Most of the time, as mentioned, it's not meant to be sexual, but rather… _intimate,_ you guess.

Usually, after the two of you finish, and are at least moderately free of semen on the abdomen/chest area, he holds you close to him. He told you at some point he always feels _vulnerable_ after sex, and that the cuddling kind of helped sooth his nerves. You get that, to be honest, and you're pretty sure the same goes for you. (And for a lot of other people.)

After either of you have time to recover, he usually talks you into taking a shower with him, and he's gentle as he washes your back for you, or as he helps you with your hair. You don't need help washing your hair, but he likes to help, and you think it's another one of those intimacy things, but you don't mind. (You always return the favor, to be honest. You like how he leans into your touch, and it makes your heart race about as fast as a jet plane.)

When it happens in the mornings, he's usually more touchy-feely with you throughout the day of. By touchy-feely, you mean that he kind of has to be touching you at all times, whether he's pretty much laying on you, or if he just has a hand on your back while the two of you are out somewhere. Again, with pretty much all other things, you don't mind it, and you actually like it. You like being able to have something like this with someone.

 

New years goes by about the same as Christmas. The two of you hang out, watch some movies or a TV show, then fall asleep at some ungodly hour while just _talking_ about anything and everything.

 

He takes you on a date on the fourth of January. You kind of have to let him buy you at least a blazer and some decent slacks, since the restaurant he wanted to take you to, for whatever reason, required formal wear. “It's worth it to be uncomfortable for a while. The food is great.”

You trust him, and he's right. The food is great. You think the thing that makes it worth it, though, is just being able to talk to him. He's charming as hell, and he listens to you when you're talking. He seems interested in everything you have to say, and he doesn't get mad at you when you ramble on for hours on end. (A lot of people get to the point that they have to just tell you to shut the hell up, but he doesn't. He just listens to you, even if he doesn't have a lot to say.)

You've asked him about it before, and he just tells you that he likes hearing you speak. He tells you that you always have this _gleam_ in your eyes whenever you're telling him a story, or you're explaining some opinion you have on a controversial topic, and that he _likes_ it. It's so fucking corny that it makes you want to vomit, but, as always, you just eat up his attention and try not to let it go to your head.

 

As expected, you're spending the rest of the weekend at his house. He'd agreed to drive you to work on Monday, and you thanked him. When the two of you get back from the date, it's a little late, but that isn't stopping him from coming on to you.

You're not really sure when this happened, but you're in love with him. (Or, well, you at least _love_ him, even if you're not quite _in love_ yet.) It started slow, or, actually, maybe it started fast, given you've known him for six months, but, the point is—it started slow, then happened all at once.

You haven't really ever been in love, or even loved someone like this, but you're pretty sure _this_ is what it feels like. It's kind of hard to not love him, though. Or, well, for you, at least. It kind of just makes sense for you, and honestly, you couldn't really imagine your life without him.

You hate to be some teenager out of a shitty romance movie, but everything about the relationship (or friendship?) is just so fucking _pure._ You don't have any regrets, and you aren't having any second thoughts. It's just—it's natural, and it doesn't feel forced.

You're not one hundred percent sure if the feeling is mutual, but you think he has to feel at least something. You notice him looking at you when he thinks you're not paying attention, and you can see the way his eyes light up whenever you walk into the room. You haven't told him that you love him quite yet, but you figure it's only a matter of time before you let it slip.

Sometimes he's a little hesitant in the way he acts around you. He's told you this before, but he still isn't quite used to the whole “I'm gay” thing, and you understand it. You're patient with him. Hell, you can even relate.

 

The middle of January is shitty. You think it'd been around the seventeenth, but you were walking from the Starbucks you worked at after staying late to clean/lock up, to the parking garage where you kept your car during the day when a few people jump you. You hadn't been paying attention, since you were focusing on trying to not freeze to death, before you're pretty much yanked into some alleyway.

You kind of regret that the 17th was one of the days where you decided to wear eyeliner and to paint your nails. You didn't have those days very much, but you were in a mood that morning, and you thought your hands looked cool with the nail polish. The eyeliner was just for the fuck of it. (You almost always had at least a little make up on, because, come on, your cheekbones aren't natural, and your eyebrows sure as hell aren't that great.)

Given that you were also wearing pants about as tight as your skin, and a cardigan, you pretty much _screamed_ gay (you're not gay, but rather bisexual) from a mile away. You're not saying that you deserved this, because you didn't, but you're not surprised that it happened. You were pushed against a wall, with some guy holding you up by the collar of your shirt after noticing you were trying to pull the 'rag-doll' trick.

You've been scared before, but not like this. You've never been scared to the point of almost vomiting, and you don't think you've ever trembled that badly, even during a fucking panic attack, or on the rare occasion you'd gotten hit by your father.

Essentially, you end up with a black eye, bruised ribs, and a sprained wrist. You thought your wrist was broken at first, though. It hurt like a motherfucker, so, honestly, what the hell else were you supposed to think?

It takes you almost five minutes to fucking type Dallon's number. You probably should've just called 911, but you didn't quite trust police officers, and you kind of figured you'd be a little more calm if Dallon were to be there anyways. It's around nine at this point, and you feel bad, because you know Dallon is usually going to bed around this time. Yes, he sleeps at nine. He is an actual grandpa.

He answers on the third ring, and you explain the situation, trying not to cry too much. You ask him if he can take you to an emergency room or something, and you can already hear his keys jingling in the background before you even get the sentence done. You stay on the phone with him until he's there.

 

You're at the hospital for a few hours. There's a few police officers who ask you about everything, but honestly, they seem condescending, and they act like either they don't believe you, or that you had it coming. You kind of just shut down and quit answering them properly. You feel like shit, and your whole body is just fucking aching. You have a headache from getting socked in the face numerous times, and essentially you're just not in the mood for homophobic pigs.

 

You go home with Dallon a little after midnight. He helps you up the stairs, and you're a little embarrassed but you were literally kicked and hit all over your body and it hurts to move. He stops in the middle of the hallway, and asks, “Do you want to take a bath together? The warm water might help.”

You nod. A bath sounds good right now, so you head to the bathroom that's just off of his bedroom. The tub in that bathroom is pretty big, and you kind of don't want to be cramped up right now. You look at yourself in the mirror, and you just cringe a bit. You look like shit. You start peeling the Velcro straps from the brace on your right wrist. You probably shouldn't wear it in the bath, but, you probably shouldn't have it off in the first place.

Dallon walks in a few moments later with a few towels. You have to have him help you get your shirt and your pants off. It's definitely embarrassing, but he's more than glad to help. He tells you not to worry about it when you apologize, and you thank him before he gives you a hug.

The bath is nice, honestly. You sit between his legs, and you're pretty sure you almost fall asleep. You have your eyes closed, and he's playing with your hair a little bit, while you lean into the touch. You feel as safe as you can at this point, and that's a blessing.

After a while, you're saying, “You should probably go to bed. You, uh, you have work and shit.”

“Dude, fuck that. I'm not going to work tomorrow. Or today, I guess. I'm probably going to go on Monday, but I'm definitely not going tomorrow.”

“I don't—I don't think I'm going to go to work for at least a few weeks. I feel like shit, and I don't want to have to walk past that place to go get my car. I don't want to get fired, though.” You're stressed, obviously. “There's too much going on tonight.” You let out a shaky breath after saying that.

“You work at a fucking Starbucks and you make nine bucks an hour, dude. You can get another job if you need to.” He has a point.

 

 

Never in your life do you think you've felt more defensive over a person. You're pissed off, like, super pissed off, but you do a spectacular job at hiding it. _Your_ moment of realization, the moment you think, “I love him,” happens that night.

 

 

Once the two of you are out of the bath tub, and you have the brace back on your arm, he's rifling through his closet and his dresser, trying to find you something to sleep in. “I can just sleep in my underwear. It isn't a big deal.”

He turns his head to give you a look. “You're at least wearing pants. It's cold as hell outside, not to mention in here, and you don't need hypothermia on top of everything.”

“It's not cold in here, and you're like a furnace anyways, dude.”

He rolls his eyes. “I'm not _that_ warm. Here,” he tosses a pair of flannel pajama pants across the room, and you, obviously, put them on.

 

You wake up around nine to _someone_ (Dallon) pressing their morning wood into your thigh. You look at him, and see that he's still asleep. Great, the guy you like has his boner pressed against your leg. Fuck, you don't even know what the two of you are. Friends with benefits? Boyfriends? Who knows. Obviously not you, though.

You wake him up when his hips are starting to move against your leg. “Dallon, get your fucking dick off my leg.” You sound a little grumpier than intended, but, hey, most people would be grumpy if they woke up to someone's boner pressed against their thigh.

He groans, and slowly opens his eyes to look at you. He lets out a ferocious yawn, then says, “Oops,” before rolling over a bit to lay on his back next to you.

“You woke me up from that, asshole.” You'd said half of that in a yawn, so it didn't sound as threatening as you wanted it to.

“It's not like I told my dick to get hard. I was asleep, dude. I was having quite a dream.”

“I was asleep, too,” comes your dry response. The two of you lay there for a few minutes, in silence, trying to wake up. You place your left hand on his stomach, and you figure that he knows what you're about to do. You move it down, until you're slowly starting slip your hand under the elastic of his underwear. His breath hitches when you wrap your hand around him, and he tries to be subtle as he pulls his briefs down a bit.

 

Once you're in his kitchen, he's pointing to the spot on the counter dedicated to over the counter cold and flu medicines and Advil, then handing you a glass of orange juice. “Take four of the Advil.” You're nodding, and thanking him, but he brushes you off, saying, “Dude, it's Advil. You don't have to thank me for _Advil.”_ He asks if you want pancakes, and you kinda just nod. Again.

He eats with you, and the two of you talk a bit. It's a nice meal. Your phone rings in the middle of it, though, and he trots to where you'd left your jacket on the couch. “It's Pete.”

“Answer it.”

Dallon answers it, big surprise there, and then he's asking, “He wants to know why you aren't at work. Can I explain?”

“Go for it.” You cover your ears while he explains, in the interest of not thinking about it as much as you already were. A few minutes later, he bumps you in the shoulder with his knuckles. You jump a little bit, since you weren't really expecting it, and he asks if you're alright. “I'm—I don't know.”

“I told Pete you're taking a few weeks off.”

“Thanks.”

He resumes his place across the table from you. His dining table really isn't that big, which you found surprising. Though, you do figure you're pretty much the only person who comes over, or at least to your knowledge, so he didn't really have a need for a huge dining table.

The two of you eat in silence, you see that he's fidgeting, and he's trying not to make any facial expressions while he's looking at you, which means he wants to say something. “Dallon. You're doing the thing. Just tell me what it is.”

He lets out a defeated sigh. “You're getting good at reading me.”

“Yes, and I know that's not what you wanted to say, so get to it, fucker.”

You feel his foot hit yours under the table. “I was going to ask if you wanted to stay here until you went back to work. I mean, I know this isn't about me, but I'd feel better if you did. Also, my bed is comfortable, and I have better water pressure than you do.”

“Okay, and I also make about forty five grand a year from working at Starbucks, that's including your ridiculous tips, give or take, so I can't really afford a better place, Dallon.” It's fucking expensive to live in New York. Forty-five grand a year would be a blessing _literally_ anywhere else in the country.

“I'm not trying to have a pissing contest, dude.”

“I'm like, twelve. Everything is a pissing contest to me.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but smiles nonetheless.

 

You take a shower on Saturday, and you're doing fine, up until you hit the problem of washing your hair. You could barely move your _fingers,_ let alone wash your fucking hair, so you slide the shower door open enough to poke your head out of it and to shout Dallon's name. You wait a few minutes, but then you remember his house is fucking huge, and the rooms are basically soundproof, which means you have to go through the _whole process_ of getting out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your waist, walking out of the bathroom, then across Dallon's room, to the hall, and then to the balcony that overlooks most of the first floor of the house, so you can get Dallon's attention.

You shout his name a second time, and you hear him say, “Yeah?” in response.

“Can you help me wash my hair? I can't really use my right arm.”

He says that, yeah, he'll help, so you start heading back into the bathroom. You're barely back in the shower when you hear the door open, and it takes less than a minute for him to be stepping in behind you. “Jesus, you take hot showers.”

“I was cold. Also,” you bat the hand that's on your ass away, “I said _hair,_ not my ass. Please tell me you're not losing your hearing already.” He _pinches_ your ass, so you whack him in the chest. “That hurt, asshole.”

“Good.” He sticks his tongue out at you, and, okay, that was adorable for some reason.

 

The first day you're back at work, you figure out that, yes, you were right, and that you couldn't handle walking down that fucking stretch of sidewalk. Long story short, you end up calling Dallon, totally not crying, and then he takes you to your apartment.

It's been a few weeks, but you're still pretty shaken up. You guess that it's understandable, but you were literally sitting on the sidewalk in front of a Starbucks, in broad daylight, crying, on the phone, and pretty much begging Dallon to pick you up. (He was more than happy to, but hey, you were freaking out. Essentially. You don't know what to call it.)

 

It's about six when the two of you are at your apartment. You're informed Dallon's probably going to end up spending the night to make sure you're alright. He's so nice. You don't get it. How can someone be so _nice?_ There isn't anything about him that seems dishonest or not genuine when it comes to just being a nice person, either. He's a fucking mystery.

It takes about an hour for you to calm down enough to where you're not crying. “Hey, Brendon?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to be alright if I leave for an hour or so to go grab a change of clothes and pick up some take-out or something?”

“As long as I get chicken, then I _guess_ I can allow it. Also, uh, do you—would you be willing to get my mail for me?” You feel a bit bad about asking the last part, because you could just go get it yourself, but you also figure that he's going out anyways, so you might as well ask.

“Yeah, of course.” Once he has his keys, and has his coat on, he bends down quite a bit to press a quick and gentle kiss to your lips. “I'll be back.” You just give him a slight grin and thank him.

 

As promised, he returns an hour later, with an overnight bag, take-out, and your mail. He hands you a decent sized stack of letters, and you thank him. Again.

You rifle through your mail. _Junk. Bill. Junk. More junk. Bill. Pay check, cool, I needed that. Eviction Notice. Bill—Wait, what the fuck?_

You stare at the envelope. You open it, slowly, and, yep, sure enough, you currently have twenty eight days to get the hell out of your apartment. “Uh, Dallon?”

“Huh?” He's at the counter, pulling cartons out of a bag, and waiting for you to continue.

“I got an eviction notice.”

He freezes. “Pardon?”

“I have to move out in exactly four weeks.”

He frowns and walks over to you. “Give me that.” He skims the letter, then asks, “Do you have a lease?”

“This is a shitty apartment in a shitty neighborhood, and I moved here with absolutely jack shit in my bank account. I don't have a lease. Can they even do this? There wasn't even a fucking reason on the letter.”

“Yeah, they can if you don't have a lease. If you had a lease, it would be super fucking illegal, but probably not worth it to go to court over either way.” He folds the letter back up, and hands it to you before going back to the counter.

“Why wouldn't it be worth it?”

“Legal fees. You'd have to get a lawyer, most likely, and good lawyers aren't cheap. I mean, I'd pay for it myself, because fuck your landlord, but that's beside the point. Anyways, like you said, this is a shitty apartment in a shitty part of town; do you _really_ want to go to court over this? I mean, you couldn't anyways, given that you don't have a lease, but still.”

“What the _fuck_ did I do to get all this shitty karma?”

Dallon shrugs, and grabs a few forks from your cutlery drawer. “Shit happens, I guess.” He walks back into the living room, and sits next to you. You thank him for the chicken, and you get a kiss on the cheek in response. You find it weird that you blush from a kiss on the cheek, but you probably wouldn't even bat an eyelash if he were to strip down naked at this very moment. (Honestly, you'd probably just tell him to put his fucking clothes back on and sit his gay ass back down on the couch.)

“I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't really have anywhere to go, because I'm not moving back to fucking Las Vegas to live with my parents, especially because I have friends here, and I refuse, like, I absolutely _refuse_ to live with Pete again. I don't even talk to Josh more than once every few months, so he isn't an option, and I don't think I could manage to get another apartment in a fucking month, and, man, I'm just _fucked._ ”

“I exist, you know.”

“Dallon—”

“Look, I have three empty bedrooms, plus a slew of other rooms, I live in a safe neighborhood, you wouldn't have to worry about rent, and I mean, I'm pretty good at cooking. I'm totally wife material.”

You want to say no, but, honestly, you kind of can't, because you're running out of options. Actually, you ran out of options a while ago. Point being, though, you don't know if you can swallow your pride and just accept the fucking help. You're not looking at him, rather at the floor, but you know he's looking at you as you say, “What are we?”

“I don't know. I can't be the _only_ one who decides that.”

“Let me rephrase, I guess. What am I to you?”

“I call you my boyfriend in my head, but I don't know if that's what you want from me.”

 _Well then._ You look over to him, and he isn't looking at you anymore. He's looking at a spot on the wall across the room, and he looks a little nervous, or maybe uncomfortable. In some grand gesture, you take his carton of take-out, and place it, along with yours, on your shitty rickety little coffee table before putting your hands (or, well, hand and brace) on the sides of his face and pretty much just smashing your lips against his.

It's like something out of a shitty romantic comedy, if you're honest. He responds in kind with a hand on the back of your head, and another hand a little below your ribs, mostly to avoid aggravating the bruises. It's definitely not the best kiss, but you're pretty sure it signifies _something_ in your relationship with him. He pulls away for about a second to ask, “Are we boyfriends now?”

You kiss him again, quickly, and say, “Yeah.”

Things escalate, he has a hand down your pants, you have a hand gripping his hair, then he's asking, “You wanna fuck?” in the breathy and slightly gravelly voice he gets when he's turned on.

You just nod almost violently, and say a quick, “Yeah.” You say 'yeah' a lot.

Essentially, this is how you got into your second ever 'serious' relationship.

 

[linebreak]

 

You spend the first week of February getting your clothes and any other necessities you had in your apartment over to Dallon's house. The first night after you've officially _completely_ moved out of your apartment, you take the first selfie you'd taken in about six months. (The ones of you making ugly faces to send to the group chat you have with Pete and a few of his friends don't count.)

You'd been on Twitter, scrolling through your time line on your phone, and Dallon had his head on your chest, watching, and making snide comments here and there, which, of course, make you giggle like a school girl. Eventually, he falls asleep, and you find it cute, so you decide to take a picture of the two of you.

 

[fanart goes here]

 

Honestly, you love the picture, and when you ask him if you can at least post it on Facebook, he gives you permission, and you're actually pretty excited about it.

When he sees your caption, he laughs a bit, and motions you over for a kiss.

 

_**Brendon Urie – 10:28 AM** _

 

_he fell asleep on me and he looks cute so I wanted to share this moment with everyone_

_al_ _s_ _o_ _my gay ass boyfriend needs a hair cut but refuses to listen to me when I ask_ _(_ _ **Dallon Weekes** _ _)_

 

_**Dallon Weekes – 10:30 AM** _

 

_My hair looks fine, dude. Also, I think you mean handsome. You're the cute one._

 

_**Pete Wentz – 10:48 AM** _

 

_Gratz on being together but both of you are fucking disgusting get out of here with that cute shit_

 

You roll your eyes at Pete's comment. He does that to everyone who's in a relationship. _“You're disgusting. Go away.”_ It's not as if he isn't disgusting with Patrick, though. You have _never_ seen anyone initiate as much PDA as he does.

 

Valentine's day is super fucking romantic. Dallon takes you to some expensive restaurant, literally wine and dines you, (by wine you mean that you had water and he had wine, given that you're twenty, and he likes to be 'responsible') then the two of you (meaning you, since you didn't have any alcohol in you) drive to some secluded place, as shady as it sounds, to just hang out for a while.

Dallon's telling you stories about some of the weirder hook-ups he had in college, and you talk about the time you and one of your friends were basically having a pissing contest by daring each other to do ballsy shit. He asks you what the ballsiest thing you'd ever done was, and, oh man, the memories just come rushing back. “Okay, so my friend, Spencer, he dared me to go streaking through the senior hall, and I didn't have the nerve to swallow my pride and say no, so of course, I did it. I literally stripped right then and there and I just fucking _hauled ass.”_ Dallon throws his head back as he laughs at you, and, god damn it, he looks beautiful, so you tell him as much.

His head whips towards you, and you can see his cheeks turning red. “Shut up.” For a thirty-year-old, he sure is bashful.

You let out an overly dramatic sigh, and reach across the front seats to pull him into an obnoxiously tight hug. “You shut up. You are my beautiful string bean of a boyfriend.”

He's a little giddy, and he laughs as he returns the hug before giving you a little smooch on the neck since he couldn't reach your face without breaking his own neck.

Eventually the two of you climb into the back seat to kind of just cuddle and share cigarettes. You didn't think he smoked, but, apparently, he did, like, once every two years. You're surprised he's letting either of you smoke in his _expensive_ car, but he tells you, “Dude, I don't give a shit. It's a car, and I'm going to use it while I get lung cancer with my man.” You're holding the ash tray, and for whatever reason, you like how his hand looks holding a cigarette. Yep, you've probably reached new levels of kinky.

The two of you talk for another half hour before there's tapping on the window, which scares the shit out of you, and a light flashing in the car. Dallon groans and rolls the window down. There's a cop standing there, looking a little embarrassed. “Uh, sorry, sir, I thought the two of you were a couple of teenagers.”

He gets a glimpse at you, though, then asks for both of your IDs. Dallon hands both of them to the officer, and gives him a bored look. You have a shit-eating look trying to take over your face when the cop sees that you are, in fact, legal. Dallon does get a dirty look, though.

(After that, the mood is kind of ruined, so you drive back to his house, or, well, maybe yours now too. You're not sure yet. The point is, though, either of you go home and hang out a little more before going to bed, and, yeah, you're pretty fucking sure you love him.)

 

On the second of April, you get a text from your mother, and she's asking you to come home for a few weeks for your birthday, and for an apology. She also asks if you have a girlfriend, and you roll your eyes so fucking hard. You just reply with, “Something like that.” Then she says you should bring _her_ home.

 

When Dallon gets home from work, you're standing by the front door. He slowly closes the door, and watches you as he takes his ugly as sin trench coat off and hangs it on the coat rack. “...Did I do something?”

“No, but you're going to.”

“What does that mean?” He gives you a weird look before heading towards the stairs. You follow him up, and into his bedroom.

You sit in the chair in front of the desk in his room, and you watch him as he sits on the edge of the bed to take his shoes off. “Do you want to go to Las Vegas with me?”

“Any particular reason?”

“My birthday.”

“It's on the twelfth, right?”

“Yeah. My parents want me to come home for a few weeks. Here,” You walk over to him, and hand him your phone with the conversation you had with your mother open.

He reads it. “I'm always up for pissing off parents.”

“This is why you're my boyfriend.”

He rolls his eyes.

 

(You end up having to quit your job at Starbucks, since you'd taken too much time off, and, honestly, it's to be expected.)

 

You sleep on Dallon's shoulder for most of the plane ride from New York to Las Vegas. You're pretty sure he slept for a while too. You're a little excited to see your father's reaction to Dallon. (He's supposed to be the one picking you up from the airport.)

Dallon looks good that day, if you're honest. He's wearing Armani, mostly since he kind of wants to impress your parents, despite the underlying intention of pissing them off. (When you asked him about _why_ it had to specifically be Armani, he just dryly said, “I'm a label queen.”)

Dallon has to use the bathroom after the two of you land, so you head over to where your father is with both yours and his luggage. The hug you get is awkward on your end, but you roll with it. You make small talk with your father for a few minutes, before he asks, “So, _where is she?”_

 _I literally fucking got kicked out for being bi why do they assume I have a girlfriend?_ “Bathroom,” comes your simple response. Another few minutes pass before you get a text from Dallon.

 

 **Dallon:** I see you

 

You look across the terminal, and see him staring at you. How you were able to pick him out of a crowd within a few seconds, you'll never kn—actually, you do know. He's fucking tall.

 

 **Brendon:** yes hello I see you too

 **Dallon:** Can I kiss your cheek and say “hey babe” when I walk over

 **Brendon:** yes

 

You watch him put his phone in his pocket before he starts to walk over, and you look back to your father and you're able to answer another question before Dallon's walking up behind you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, and saying, “Hey, babe.” You want to cringe at the pet name, and you know he's probably mentally killing himself, but the look on your father's face is priceless.

He thought you said you had a girlfriend, so you correct him. “I said 'something like that' to Mom when she asked. I didn't explicitly say I had a girlfriend.”

“I mean, I can be your girlfriend if you want. I'd make an ugly girl, but we can try.”

You whack Dallon in the chest. “Shut up, asshole.”

Dallon sobers up a little bit and sticks a hand out for your father to shake before he introduces himself. It's so _weird._ You've seen him put on his formal business act a few times, and each time, it's the _weirdest_ thing. You're used to him being a bit of a goof and a sappy little shit, so, yeah, it's understandable that you'd be caught off guard.

 

Your parents make the two of you sit on the couch and answer a few questions. Of course, after the rant about you, essentially, being disrespectful. How you were disrespectful, you will never know. You can see where they're coming from, you _guess,_ but you still don't really get it. Dallon interrupts the rant, though. You knew he was smart, and that he could shut people down in an instant, but, oh man, you had _never_ seen _anyone_ shut your parents up that quick. He ends his own rant by saying, “If you don't want me here, and he's alright with it, I can easily just go get a hotel room or fly either of us back to New York tonight. We don't _have_ to be here.”

Anyways, to the questions.

Is he actually your boyfriend? Yes.

How old is he? Thirty. (They start getting on to you, _and_ Dallon, but he just says, “He can leave me or break up with me any time he wants. I'm not forcing him to be with me.”)

Does he have a job? A house? They get a bored look out of Dallon, but, yes, he has a job, and yes, he owns a house. Actually, he owns two houses.

Exactly what does he _do_ for a job? Stock broker.

College? He has a bachelor's degree in law that he literally will never use, and a master's degree in economics. _The law degree explains why he's a preachy fuck._

Salary? You get it, they want to make sure he isn't some scumbag, but _why_ do they want to know his salary? Apparently he'd been expecting this, though, so he shows them pay stubs for the past three months. Now, _you_ didn't know this, but apparently he'd already made, and you aren't kidding, eight million dollars so far this year.

Brendon, are you with him for the money? No, you're not. You couldn't care less about the money. (“If he was, I would've figured it out a long time ago, and I wouldn't be here right now.”) (“I didn't even know he had that much fucking money when I met him in the first place.”)

Is he good to you? Yes. Extremely.

Are you good to him? He tells them that, yes, you're good to him.

How long have the two of you been together? Six or seven months, technically, but the two of you had been exclusive for a little over two months.

Now, do _you_ have a job? No, you kind of got fired for taking too much time off.

College? You explain what had happened in January before telling them you were taking a break this semester. Your mood dips considerably after telling them about January. (Dallon seems to sense this, either that or he just looked at you, so he puts a hand on your knee and squeezes it a bit.) They don't seem as fazed as they should be, which kind of hurts.

 

Dallon falls asleep around seven in the bed you'd spent most of your childhood and teenage life in. The dude was exhausted, and he needed the sleep. Also, he looks cute when he sleeps, and you totally don't creepily stare at him for a while.

You sit outside on the patio for a while, sipping at some water, reading an article on your phone, and ignoring the group chat you're in. (Pete apparently did something, and everyone was fighting. You didn't want to get involved, so you figured it'd be best to just ignore it.) You hear the sliding glass door opening behind you, and when you look up, you're greeted with your mother, who looks either sad or disappointed. Or both. Or something else, you have no clue. You hadn't seen her in two years.

She sits nearby, and, oh god, you're in for a fucking talk. She has the _look._ You need to talk to at least her, you really do, especially after what had happened last year, but you've wanted to avoid it for so long. “How have you been doing?”

You're mentally squinting at her. “I'm fine.”

The two of you continue on for a bit, and it's kind of a nice conversation, but she says something that really doesn't surprise you. “I don't think your relationship with that man is appropriate.”

You close your eyes for a few seconds, and take a deep breath, before speaking. “Okay. That's your opinion, and given that, legally, I'm an adult, I don't really have to listen to you.”

She makes a comment about the age difference, and at _that_ you roll your fucking eyes.

“Really? Dad's forty eight and you're thirty eight. You married him when you were _nineteen,_ and he was _twenty-nine._ You're not one to fucking talk.” You lean back, and cross your arms and your legs.

“That's different.”

“How? Indulge me. I'm a year older than you were when you got _married._ ”

She says they were in love, you point out the age thing again, and you finally say it, out loud, that you love Dallon, then she makes a comment about how you can't possibly know that. Eventually, after going back and forth, you figure it out. Well, you figured out a while ago. It's because either of you are boys. She doesn't think two men could _possibly_ love each other.

You know what you do? You get up, you go back inside, into your old bedroom, and you plop down onto your bed next to Dallon. He jerks awake, then meekly hits your arm, saying, “You scared the shit out me.”

He ends up in his usual position of having his head on your chest, and an arm thrown over your torso, before he's asking if you're alright. You stare at the ceiling for a few moments, before asking, “Do you love me?”

“I'd be a liar if I said I didn't. Why?”

You explain the argument, and by the time you're done, you're crying out of frustration, because, god damn it, you feel like they aren't even trying. They invite you home, and you think they invited you, expecting that you'd suddenly be straight or something like that, then they just shit all over every single fucking thing going on in your life.

“They didn't even seem to fucking care about January. I know it could've been worse, but it was so fucking _scary_ and I still get scared going out alone. I can't even fucking handle people bumping into me on the sidewalk or in a crowded store.” You're trying not to be too loud, since you don't want your parents to know you're crying.

“Honestly, I don't know how any of this feels, and I don't quite understand it, but I'm sorry.” He looks up with you with his stupid pretty eyes and that dumb cute little mouth of his, and for whatever fucking reason, you cry _more._ (Actually, you're just super fucking frustrated, and at least ten years of pent up frustrations are rearing their head right about now.) “Do you want to try to give it a few days before getting a hotel?” The arm thrown over your torso is heading towards your face until his hand is on your cheek, and making its way to run through your hair.

You wipe at your eyes, and nod. For whatever reason, you still cling to some small shred of hope that, some how, within the next few days, your parents will suddenly be even more tolerable.

 

You wake up to Dallon pretty much curling himself around you in his sleep. Usually _you're_ the cuddler, not him. His mouth is wide open, and he's snoring pretty loudly, and you're trying really, _really_ hard not to laugh at him. Eventually you have to get up and go through your morning routine, though. You mourn the loss of the warmth you'd been leeching from him.

You spend about five minutes going over yourself in the mirror, and picking at whatever little blemishes you could find, which wasn't the best choice, but it was a reflex. You hear a slight knocking on the door, and you know it's Dallon. You'd lived with him for two months and you'd known him for about eight months; you knew what his knocks sounded like.

You open the door, and he steps into the bathroom before closing the door behind him. He makes eye contact with you through the mirror, simply asking, “Shower?”

You nod, and he gives you a thumbs up before pulling his t-shirt up and over his head, then discarding it on the floor. After either of you lose your pants, the two of you are pressed against the wall of the shower with the faucet, trying to avoid the icy bullets of water.

When the water is at the comfortable level between lukewarm and scalding, Dallon's rubbing your shoulders, and you're just soaking up the attention along with absorbing the heat from the water. You're a cold person. Like, physically. Emotionally, you can be a bit of a dick, but you're not cold as far as emotions go.

“Did you sleep alright?” His voice is gentle, and you feel him kiss the back of your neck as his hands move a bit lower than your shoulders.

“Yeah. I always sleep pretty good when you're around.”

“I'm flattered.” He's smug, and you can feel his face in the spot between your neck and shoulders, then his hands wrapping around your waist.

“Shut up. I'm trying to be affectionate, you prick.”

“I just love it when you use pet names.”

“You're the one who called me 'babe' yesterday.”

You turn around to pull him into a slow kiss after he lets out a quick huff of breath at you. He's smiling into it, and you start laughing. It's not one of your loud, ugly, I can't quite breath properly laughs, though. It's more of a shy, wow, the guy I like is a huge goof and I am literally blessed, kind of laugh.

It's to be expected, like a lot of things, but, _things_ escalate, and the two of you have a rock-paper-scissors contest to see who has to go back to your bedroom, wrapped in a towel with a very obvious hard on, to get a condom and a packet of lube. As fate would have it, you're the one who ends up venturing back to the room. You're able to get there, rifle through Dallon's suitcase until you find what you were looking for, and get back to the bathroom without being seen.

As soon as you're back in the shower, you're being pressed against the wall, and Dallon's asking you to hold onto the condom while he gets to work with his _fingers._ Apparently he's more awake than you thought he was, because he's _teasing_ you, and you're about ready to throttle him. “Dallon, c'mon, we aren't even at _home.”_

He takes the condom from your hand, saying, “I _guess_ I can be nice. Just this once, though.”

You turn around to give him a look similar to the smug one he'd had earlier. “Admit it, my ass _owns_ you.”

As he starts pushing in, and as he moves a hand to cover your mouth, which befuddles you given that he's the louder out of the two of you, he responds with, “You're not the one doing all the work here either, pal.”

You just let out an obviously muffled groan, because, yeah, he's right.

 

When the two of you are back in your bedroom, and getting dressed, he's saying, “Dude, wear something else. You've been wearing that outfit for three months.”

You look at the clothes you have laid out on your old bed. It's the jacket he gave you for Christmas, your usual tight as hell black jeans, and a shitty graphic t-shirt from Walmart. “It looks fine.”

“Yeah, but out of _all_ the clothes you brought with you—you choose _this?”_

“I can't even defend myself, to be honest.” You dig through your suitcase a bit, and pull out a button up. “Okay, will you let me leave the room if I wear a button up instead of a t-shirt?”

“I suppose.”

(You end up ditching the jacket, due to the weather being far too warm.)

 

The two of you sit through an awkward breakfast with your parents. You have to get up about half way through the meal to go get some water. By that, you mean you needed at least a minute out of the dining room.

You tap Dallon's shoulder with your knuckles, and ask, “You want some water?”

He looks up at you with a fond little look in his eyes, and says, “Yeah, if you would.”

It takes everything in you not to outwardly 'aww' at him, but you _do_ give in and kiss him on the cheek before heading to the kitchen to get water for either of you. (You also mess his hair up on your way, and you laugh at the look he gives you.) (He calls you a dickbag, and gets a look from your parents, which makes you laugh even more.)

 

After breakfast, your parents are out of the house pretty quickly, due to the fact that, aside from being horrible, they have jobs, and lives. Okay, your parents aren't actually that horrible, but you're still young, you're bitter about every single fucking thing, and you still have to get over your little rebellious phase.

You end up spending your morning sitting between Dallon's legs on the couch as the two of you watch some shitty sitcom. You're reminded of the countless evenings either of you would spend curled up on either the shitty couch or the shitty futon in your shitty apartment the previous year, and it's kind of just… weird. It's a little weird.

His choice days when he'd come over just to hang out tended to be Saturdays. Almost every Saturday from August to December, it was a game of guessing when he'd be knocking on your apartment door. You'd figured out pretty quickly that the dude is affectionate as hell when he wants to be, and you're pretty sure he doesn't really even realize it.

 

Early in the afternoon, the two of you are having a _lovely_ meal at a restaurant that actually isn't high-end nor intended for uptight business men. “I like coming here whenever I'm in Vegas.”

“Isn't it too basic for your rich person palette?” You remark snidely as you shovel some macaroni and cheese you probably could've just made yourself at home into your mouth.

You feel his foot hit your shin lightly under the table. “Half of my diet from August to February was Chinese take-out. My standards aren't high.”

“You trying to play footsie?”

“My legs are too long for that. I'd probably knock the table over with my knee.”

You laugh at the mental image. “Yeah, you'd better not, then.”

“What do you want for your birthday?” He looks like he's up to something, but he also just looks as if he could be curious. His curious and his 'I'm about to do something' looks are scarily similar.

“A million bucks,” comes your quick and sarcastic reply.

“I have my checkbook right here, dude.” He's pointing towards his pocket, which you know contains his wallet.

“I was _kidding._ I don't care what you get me. Hell, you could give me a kiss on the cheek and I'd be fine with it. I'm flattered enough that you're even considering getting me anything in the first place.” Your voice trails off and you shrug as you say the last part.

“Shut up. You're getting _hella_ presents.”

The two of you make eye contact for about a second before you start laughing at the look on his face. He's trying to defend himself, but he's laughing and honestly isn't even doing any good for his point. “I need to get you things too, though. _Your_ birthday is in a month.”

“You don't have to get me anything, dude.”

“Is this how Christmas and birthdays are going to go? Are you going argue with me over getting you presents, and vice versa?”

“Of course.”

 

The day of your birthday isn't overly special, if you're honest. A few of your friends from high school show up at your parents' house, Dallon has to pretty much drag you there from the hotel, and you introduce Spencer to Dallon. Dallon gets Spencer's blessing, and you're relieved. He's a psychic when it comes to boyfriends and girlfriends. He could tell in a fucking look if they were good for you. It was so _weird._ You wish you had that ability. (Spencer says Dallon's good for you, and then tells _you_ not to fuck it up.) (Dallon also asks if you seriously ran naked through the senior hall in your school, and he just gets a grim and overly serious nod in return.)

 

April 12th, your 21st birthday, is the night you decide birthday sex is one of your favorite kinds of sex. You're laid on your back, looking up at him, as he's slowly lowering himself onto you. It's one of the hottest things you'd ever seen him do.

You let out a subtle (read: obnoxiously loud) groan at the sight. He's experimenting, trying to see if this is one of those things he likes, and you're more than happy to participate. The look on his face, the way his mouth is opened just a little bit, the flushing of his cheeks, how his eyes are almost closed as he looks down at you—it's slightly overwhelming. Just slightly.

Your hands are on him, running up and down his chest, his sides, his slightly trembling thighs, trying to comfort him, or whatever, making sure he's alright. He has his hands on your shoulders, and he's admitting he has no fucking clue what he's doing. “I'm not going to complain about having sex with the most gorgeous person in the world, dude.”

He lightly hits your chest with his hand, and gives you a small, dumb grin; “Shut up. You're the gorgeous one here. Also, don't call me dude when we're fucking.” You're about to protest, but then he's rolling his hips, and it's ripping an obscene and downright vulgar moan from you, effectively killing whatever was left in you to bicker with the older man.

You put your hands on his hips, give him a devious look before moving your own hips in a small thrust, then grin in wicked satisfaction at the high pitched little _whine_ that passes through his lips. You open your mouth to make a remark, but he pinches your nipple, _hard,_ and cuts you off. “Don't, or I'll go take care of myself in the bathroom.”

“Jesus—fuck—ow, you _prick._ Let go of my nipple.”

He has his tongue in his cheek, and he's trying not to laugh.

“Get that look off of your face. I will beat you up.”

“I'd like to see you try, Urie. I will squash y—jesus—give me a little warning—fuck,” He takes a ridiculously deep breath, and you try not to smirk _too_ much as the two of you start to find a rhythm, or from the ridiculously loud but not ironic noises he's making. You thrust upwards, and try not to bust your load each time he slams himself back down.

He ends on his back, and you try your best to watch him as he falls apart and kind of just loses himself in the moment. He does it a lot, and its both simultaneously hot and cute in a way. You're not quite used to being in control, and it feels a little _weird_ but you aren't complaining. With as much of a smart ass and with how confrontational you are with most everyone, you're actually pretty submissive.

His face is pressed against your neck, _whimpering_ and _begging,_ babbling nonsense in between weak pleas, hands scrabbling at your shoulders, and teeth sinking into your neck once in a while, surely leaving a mark. In a way, you guess this is kind of his first time. You're doing your best to be attentive and caring, knowing full well how he probably feels.

Afterward, when he's laying on his back next to you, coming down from his high or whatever the fuck you want to call it, he asks, “Was that—uh—was it alright?” You can _feel_ the awkward dripping off of him.

You spare him a glance, only to catch him watching you, almost warily, as if he's seeking your approval. “More than. How about you?”

He nods. “Yeah—it was—it was pretty fuckin' great.” He lets out a quick little bout of nervous laughter, and you just lean over to kiss him for the millionth time.

 

Dallon's birthday goes by smoothly. He takes you to Italy, and it's fucking fabulous as well as ridiculously romantic. You bask in the glory of the honeymoon phase, and you have a little fun basically being arm candy, along with being a _little_ surprised at the envious looks that get thrown your way from women _and_ men.

 

Some gossip rag for queer people interviews Dallon, _and_ you, mostly by association, in June. The magazine had caught wind of him divorcing his wife, and 'coming out of the closet.' (He didn't necessarily _come out_ , but he didn't hide it.) You can see why they'd have an interest in him. He's _rich,_ has the power to be pretty fucking influential, he's attractive, he's relatively young, and he's openly gay.

Either of you receive a lot of unsolicited comments and attention through various forms of social media. Either of you are ridiculed about the age difference, you're accused of being a gold digger, he has a slew of names being tossed at him, and although you like the attention, it gets old, and you can't check your notifications on Twitter or Instagram without getting at least a little pissed off.

In July, after the article, you get approached by a few modeling agencies. There'd apparently been a few _important_ people who'd seen photos of you from the magazine, which kind of surprises you. In your opinion, at least, you're not conventionally attractive, and you don't look even remotely similar to the kind of people you see modeling, yet there's still some sort of interest in you.

Simply put, this is how you meet one of the biggest assholes of all time. You'd confided in Dallon, and he'd made a few calls, and had essentially hooked you up with a _manager._ The guy is… weird. He's a lanky fucker, probably about the same height as you, and as mentioned, he's just an asshole. He seems like a good person, though, and he gets shit done, so you're able to tolerate him.

 

“You'll have to go to Italy for this, but I think it's the one you should go with. That's a fucking _popular_ magazine, and you're going to have modeling agencies having all out wars over you. If you wanted a career in modeling, then you, sir, have got one.” He's scribbling a few things down in a notebook, then he's looking up at you again. “Are you going to do it?”

“I can't really go alone, or I totally would. I don't know Italian and I have no clue how to navigate through a foreign country. I mean, I did go to Italy in May for uh, my boyfriend's birthday, but we were only there for like, a week, which isn't enough time to learn anything.” You're rambling a bit, and fidgeting.

“...You're acting as if I wouldn't go with you.” He's squinting, and he looks genuinely _confused._ “You're basically an infant, and to be frank, I don't trust you alone in Europe. No offense.”

“Thanks, true, and none taken. My responses, respectively.”

 

Tyler Joseph is officially _also_ one of the weirdest people you've ever met. Normally, if you're going to be stuck on an airplane for long periods of time, you'd wear pajamas, or sweat pants, and _not_ fucking _Prada_ , and you wouldn't try to look more intimidating than you actually are. Even Dallon, who is one of the most uppity people you know, and who rarely dresses down for _anything,_ wouldn't pull this shit.

“You do realize we're going to be on the flight for eight hours, right?” You're asking the second the dude shows up at the house to retrieve you.

“I'm well aware. I've been to Italy plenty of times.”

“Why the fuck are you wearing a suit, then?”

“I look hot. Also, I want to give off that 'don't fuck with me' vibe, you know?”

You scoff, then roll your eyes at him. He acts as if he's a fifteen year old stuck in a twenty-five year old body.

 

You're a little bummed, since you don't get a chance to say goodbye to Dallon, but you're also a little touched at the email he sends you about half way through your flight. (You think it's about noon in New York when he sends it.)

 

_**Dallon Weekes** _ _[dlwks@aol.com](mailto:dlwks@aol.com) _

**Subject** _**:** _ _no subject_

 

Sorry I wasn't able to see you off or whatever. I have a job and all. Please be safe, and have a good time. (I'd say 'I love you' but I'm saving that for a more romantic moment rather than an email.) I am spiritually giving you a kiss. And a hug. Maybe a little squeeze of the ass. I'll see you in a few weeks. Or…. _Weekes._

 

_Dallon._

 

How fucking _gay_ can he get? You know the grin you have on your face is super fucking dumb, and you're ignoring the weird look Tyler is giving you from the seat next to you. (You do write Dallon off as dead, though, for the pun.)

 

You're spending a week in Italy. You have two days to fix your sleep schedule, then there's the photo shoot. You're having head-shots done the day after the photo shoot, as per Tyler's… demand. You'd say request, but there wasn't anything optional about it.

“You need to get some fucking head-shots done.” _-Tyler Joseph, July, 201_ _3_ _._

 

Exhaustion doesn't come close to what you feel the third day of the trip. (The photo shoot day.) You manage to get about six hours in, which isn't _that_ bad, before _someone_ is barging into your room at four in the fucking morning, yelling, “Get up! We have shit to do!” and yanking your blankets off of you, leaving you cold, alone, and afraid. Okay, not afraid, but you're cold and a little miffed.

The photo shoot itself is kind of weird, honestly. There's make up caked onto your face, somehow looking _natural_ , then there's assistants pinning the clothes you're wearing behind your back, making it look like they fit properly and perfectly, whereas in reality, they don't. There's about five people sitting off to the sides, watching you like a hawk, and making your skin crawl.

The experience isn't _bad._ It's more or less a neutral experience. The photos look good, and you get sent an email containing the files, which you forward to Dallon, to show him. He says that you're fucking gorgeous, and you totally don't go red at the compliment. Nope. Definitely not.

 

Once you're back in New York, you have about two days to recuperate from the trip to Italy before you're informed that Dallon's _parents_ want to _visit._ You knew you were bound to meet them at some point, but you weren't prepared to meet them this soon. Or, well, at least not a week after having been in Italy.

“They're nice, and I don't think they're going to absolutely lose their shit like your parents did,” was all Dallon had to say about it. He was fidgeting, and you knew full well he was nervous, but he didn't say anything. He did, though, spend three days going through the house, cleaning, making sure everything was spotless, and giving you dirty looks every time you made yourself something to eat, which caused _you_ to give him dirty looks in response, because come the fuck on, pancakes aren't going to absolutely ravage his asshole.

 

“Dallon, will you sit your gay ass down? They're your _parents._ They aren't going to give a shit about what you're wearing or what the house looks like.” You love him and all, you really do, but the pacing gets on your nerves.

He frowns at you.

“Don't give me a dirty look, dude. As your boyfriend, it is my duty to like… get you to not pace. That is why we are boyfriends.”

He just gives you an incredulous look. “Is that our relationship? Me pacing and you telling me to knock it the hell off?” He's asking as he plops down next to you on the couch.

“Yes. That's exactly it. The minute I saw you in that Starbucks, I just _knew_ it was my duty to stop you from pacing.”

You get nudged in the shoulder, then you're informed that you're a smart ass.

“You love me, though,” You put an extra lilt in your little sing-song voice, before leaning over to envelop the man in an obnoxious embrace.

He returns the gesture, and sighs, saying, “ _Unfortunately,_ I do,” before giving you a kiss that's even more obnoxious than the embrace.

 

His parents are… nice. They're nicer than your parents by far. You're a little put-off by them, though. Dallon gets his off-putting and intimidating stare from his mother, and, in your opinion at least, physically he looks like his father. They're his parents, so _obviously,_ he's going to have traits from both of them, and you really don't even know why you're surprised or why you even think it's worth noting.

You get the 'If you hurt him, I will kill you' schtick from his father, and you have a very deep and meaningful conversation with his mother. By the end of their visit, you're about ninety percent sure you have their approval, and that you're… _accepted_ into the family.

This was an experience, especially given that, aside from _Ryan,_ you've never met anyone's parents. You are basically an infant as well, though, so obviously that's a factor in how much of an _experience_ this was. Actually, your whole fucking life at this point is an experience.

 

You go back to school when August rolls around. You'd decided to aim for a master's in business administration, after having a lengthy discussion with Dallon, then _Pete,_ surprisingly, and finally, Tyler, your dickbag of a manager. Okay, he's cool, but you will never get tired of reiterating that he's an asshole.

Dallon had been the one to suggest the idea of business administration, and he'd been the first one you'd talked to. “That would be useful, and there's a pretty wide variety of jobs you could get if the modeling thing doesn't pan out. Having something to fall back on is always a great idea, dude.”

Pete had been stoned when you'd talked to him, and, admittedly, you'd been sharing a joint with him, so you were stoned as well. “If you think it's a good idea, then do it. Dallon's paying for it, right? You might as well take advantage and do what you want, as shitty as it sounds. You're fucking lucky, Brendon. Also, where do you keep the potato chips?”

“It'll look good as far as your public image goes, if that ever does become an issue, especially given who your boyfriend is and who _you_ are, or who you're becoming.” That'd been Tyler's input. It's a pretty good opinion, if you're honest.

 

By October, you're already up to your fucking ass in homework. Of course, you get it done, and you try to do it in a timely manner, but that doesn't stop it from being difficult.

Econ is the bane of your existence, though. You eventually hit a point at about midnight in the beginning of October to where you literally just _barge_ into Dallon's room, thank the lord he's still awake, before saying, “Help me with my econ homework. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. Please. You have a master's in economics and I have a GED.”

He looks up from the book he's reading, and something on his face falters for a quick second before he's folding the corner of the page to mark his place and getting up from the bed. Once he's standing in front of you, he's making a vague motion with his hand, basically asking you to lead the way to the room that's being used as an office.

“I can't understand any of this,” You start as you sit down, “and my professor is fucking _terrible_ at explaining things.”

He pulls a chair from the other side of the room over to the desk to sit next to you. “Start with the easy ones. Here, let me see that.” He takes the assignment from you, and goes over it. “Taxes are easy. We have calculators, and Google, so finding answers for that shouldn't be too hard. I'd recommend trying to do it _without_ Google, so you can actually _learn,_ though.”

He points at a few other things, and explains the best he can, and _somehow,_ he manages to do it in a way that you can understand. He's surprisingly patient, and he does his best to answer your questions. Once you've finished the assignment, you let out a pretty fucking huge sigh, then lean over to kiss him right on the lips.

When you pull away, he's smiling and laughing a little bit, then asking, “What was that for?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Can I be corny for a second?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Go for it. I might have to break up with you for a few minutes, though.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Okay, I'll try not to cringe at myself too hard, but, I feel _incredibly_ lucky to have you in my life. You're like, a fuckin' great person, dude.”

“Yeah, I'm breaking up with you for a few minutes,” He's laughing, and you know his statement has no substance to it, especially when he's the one leaning over to kiss you. “Can we be boyfriends again?”

“ _Obviously.” Kiss._ “I love you.”

“I love you too.” _Fuck yeah. He said it._

 

Pete invites you to a Halloween party, and, unlike last year, you actually go. You drag Dallon with you, under the guise of him needing to get out of the house and socialize more than once a decade. You pull the good ol' skeleton routine, and manage to talk Dallon into being a nun. “Remind me, why am I doing this?”

“You love me and you want to cater to my sense of humor?”

He just squints and shakes his head.

 

It's basically a college party, and there's far too many drunk teenagers and young adults stumbling around. You're standing in a corner, drinking spiked punch, having a heated discussion regarding lingerie with Pete, while ignoring the suggestive looks Dallon keeps throwing your way. _I am not wearing lingerie for you. If for whatever reason we share a conscious, you should shut the fuck up._ “Look, I just think red is a better color for lingerie.”

“Red is such an ugly color of lingerie, though. Black is _way_ sexier, and it doesn't clash as bad as red does. Anyways, you're the emo one here; shouldn't _you_ be the one liking black?” You cross your arms, and give Pete a pointed look as you say that.

“I can't even argue with that, because it's true. Although black _is_ hot, red will always have a special place in my heart.”

“Agree to disagree?”

“Forever, dude.”

_Fist bump._

 

Early in December, you end up in Vancouver with Dallon. You're there for a modeling job, and Dallon, bless his heart, knows his way around the city. Added, he apparently likes Vancouver, and needed an excuse to visit.

Your loving and totally empathetic manager had sent you off with the directions not to fuck up or piss the photographers off, and informed you that he was staying in New York, because, “It's fucking _Vancouver._ Everyone speaks English, and you're not across the Atlantic, so you're on your own.”

The magazine you're going to be _featured_ in (air quotes) isn't a huge one, but it isn't small. You're not getting paid a whole lot either, but it's enough to cover expenses as far as plane tickets and cab rides go. (Dallon refuses to let you pay him back for the plane tickets or cab ride costs, though, and although you're a little miffed, you're also the slightest bit thankful.)

 

“We are such a cliche.”

“How so?” You take a swig of the shitty milkshake you'd gotten from a McDonald's, and glance at him. You're raising your eyebrows, and trying not to at least snort at him, since the statement had been out of basically nowhere.

“You're ten years younger than me, a _model,_ I'm fuckin' old and I pay for basically everything you do. It's a _cliche._ ”

“I can move out or get a job if you want, dude.”

He looks _offended._ “That's _not_ what I meant.”

“I was kidding, Dallon. Well, at least about the moving out part.” You shrug, and look at your phone, which was vibrating furiously from the group chat with Pete and his friends. From the message previews, all you gathered was that Pete did something again, and everyone's pissed off. (Namely Patrick.) Similar to the last time Pete did something, you ignore the group chat.

“Worry about college and your career. You don't need a job,” He mutters the last part, then nudges you with a sheepish look on his face. “I mean, if you want a job, feel free. I'm not stopping you.” He's trying to cover his ass, and you cant help but to actually snort at him this time.

 

Starting December and extending through most of the next year, you're busy as hell. You're traveling all over the states and Europe, mostly accompanied by Tyler, occasionally by Dallon when his work schedule allows it. It's fun, you like modeling, and you like the attention, of course, but you miss being able to sleep in your own bed, and just sleeping for more than four hours at a time in general.

You also miss Dallon like a motherfucker, considering you don't get the chance to see him, in person, more than once every few weeks. There's Skype, and there's texting, but time zones and conflicting schedules are going to be the fucking death of you. You don't like waxing poetic over him, but you really want a fucking hug. That's it. That's all you want. A _hug._

 

You're in France when you turn twenty two. You decide to stay at the hotel, drinking alcoholic beverages, and watching shitty romantic comedies on Netflix (your usual pastime) while you wait for the inevitable message on Skype from Dallon, telling you that he's home, and asking if you'd like to call him.

The message comes later than you'd expected, and it's not a good one.

 

 **[4/13/14 12:49 AM] Dallon Weekes:** Do you think you could come home ASAP

 **[4/13/14 12:51 AM] bread:** why, are you ok??

 **[4/13/14 12:57 AM] Dallon Weekes:** Kind of? Not really. My parents _kinda_ died.

 **[4/13/14 1:02 AM] Dallon Weekes:** I'm sorry to drop this on you out of nowhere

 **[4/13/14 1:06 AM] bread:** excuse me if im being presumptuous but we're kind of in a long term relationship, im here for you, and i'm not going to bail as soon as shit gets real. I need to talk to tyler and see if I actually _can_ go home but I probably wouldnt be able to catch a flight until later today especially on such short notice, but ill try I promise

 **[4/13/14 1:13 AM] Dallon Weekes:** Thank you

 **[4/13/14 1:15 AM] bread:** im gonna go wake tyler up. ill tell you how it goes.

 

You get up from the bed, and let out a quick, “Jesus Christ,” because you're a little more inebriated than you thought you were. _Yeah, I'm never touching another daiquiri._

On your way out, you grab your room key and Tyler's spare room key before stumbling your way down the hall and to his room. You contemplate knocking, but you figure that if he can just barge into your room without any warning, then you can do the same. You know he's religious, so if he says anything, you plan to say, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

Once you manage to get the door open, you're raising your voice a bit, saying, “Dude, wake up. I got some questions.”

He jerks awake, then throws a pillow at you. “Fuck off. Jesus.” He groans, then asks, “What's up?”

You explain the situation, and he curses under his breath.

“You have a contract, and legally, if you break it, you're going to have to pay a pretty hefty fine. The soonest I could get you back into the states would be on the sixteenth, and then we'd have to leave again on the twenty-first because of the Japan thing.”

“Alright. I'll uh—I'll go tell Dallon.”

“Before you go, I just want you to know that if you wake me up again, I'm going to have your head on a platter.”

 

 **[4/13/14 1:32 AM] bread:** sorry for taking so long tyler was explaining a few things

 **[4/13/14 1:34 AM] Dallon Weekes:** It's alright

 **[4/13/14 1:36 AM] bread:** I have a contract and I apparently cant leave without having to pay a fine so the earliest I could come home would be on the sixteenth, but I have to leave again on the twenty-first

 **[4/13/14 1:40 AM] Dallon Weekes:** Alright. I'm probably going to be scarce the next few days, because I have to talk to family, their friends, and organize a funeral or whatever.

 **[4/13/14 1:42 AM] bread:** wanna video call

 **[4/13/14 1:44 AM] Dallon Weekes:** I look ugly as hell because I've been crying

 **[4/13/14 1:46 AM] bread:** you know full well I dont give a shit

 

It takes another twelve minutes, but you get the notification, an as soon as the video loads, you're saying, “You look like shit.”

 _“_ _Thanks for the vote of confidence.”_ He sniffs and rubs at one of his eyes.

“I'll just cut to the chase, but _how?”_

 _“_ _Drunk driver. Ran them off the road. Totaled the car. Mom, uh, died on impact. Broken neck. Dad bled out from part of the windshield, uh, you know. You can guess.”_ He's making hand gestures, and Jesus, he's crying again, and you're really wishing you could go home immediately and give him a hug.

“I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I really want to give you a hug?”

The corner of his mouth lifts up a bit. _“Thanks.”_

“How was work?”

 _“_ _Uh, good, until about one. The call, y'know. Other than that it was kind of just… There.”_ A slightly awkward silence settles in for _maybe_ five minutes, before he's asking, _“Where do you keep your weed stash?”_

“I never pegged you for a stoner. I found a false bottom in one of the drawers in the kitchen. I think it's the third one down on the left of the stove. There's like, a little hole in the back, so you can lift it up or whatever. I figured it was a good spot for my weed.”

 

The next few days are… weird. You kind of shut down and get what work you need to get done, well, _you know,_ done, before you're due back in the states. The flight back is weird too. Or, well, it feels weird. You spend it listening to some obscure album from some obscure band at full volume, and thinking about your life and where it's at.

Three, almost four, years ago you were a dirt poor drop out working on getting a GED and your only goal was to have at _least_ one meal a day. You remember how fucking scary it was to fly from Las Vegas to New York, since the only person who could/was willing to let you stay with them was Pete. You didn't even _know_ Pete outside of the internet, and for all you knew, he could've been a serial killer. You didn't have any other choice, though, other than living on the streets, and you absolutely _refused_ to be homeless.

You remember how relieved you'd felt being able to rent your own apartment, and just having a space of your own, even if the insulation was shitty and the hot water only worked about fifty percent of the time. It was your home, and despite the quality, you were proud of it.

Things were kind of okay for the next few years. You worked two jobs, at first, just to make ends meet, and you were fucking exhausted half the time, but hey, it didn't stop you from partying. You didn't get the chance in high school, given you were dating the same person for two and a half years, so you took advantage of living on your own to screw around and have an obnoxious amount of sex.

Around the time you turned twenty, you lost the second job, leaving you with fucking _Starbucks,_ and praying people left you enough tips to get by. It was, somehow, less stressful, even though it meant you had virtually no money _at all_ to spend on food or other necessities.

And then _July_ had rolled around, bringing Dallon, who was a fucking _blessing,_ into your life. You still kind of laugh at how he'd been known as 'cute stock broker guy' for at least two months before you got around to actually using his name when you'd talk about him.

It took you a _month_ to get into his pants, and, honestly, that's a fucking record for anyone. Actually, it's not, but you found it impressive, given he wasn't a one night stand, and from the shit-eating looks and straight boy war cries you'd get from Pete almost every day, you figured that he, at the very least, thought it to be impressive as well.

You still don't know when it quit being about the sex, though, or if it ever really _was_ about the sex in the first place. You figure it was probably around the time he got into a fight with his ex-wife, though, and he'd shown up a fucking sobbing mess at your shit-hole apartment.

You don't think you'll ever _not_ find it weird how someone who made upwards of twenty million last year can be so down to earth. You're pretty sure the only time he'd made a comment about your apartment not being the best had been after the January incident and right before you'd moved in with him, and even then, he wasn't ridiculing you over it or being an asshole.

 

Dallon's at JFK to pick you (and Tyler) up, and as soon as he sees you/you're past customs, you're being pulled into a pretty tight hug, which you return, of course.

“Hey, lovebirds, I hate to ruin a moment, but I'm jet-lagged and I'd like to go home sometime this year.” You turn your head to give Tyler a dirty look, but you detach yourself nonetheless.

 

After Tyler's dropped off at his own house, and after you're home, finally finished putting your clothes/suitcase away, you find yourself sitting in the kitchen, eating leftover Chinese take out with Dallon. “You still look like shit.”

“You're one to talk, Mr. Jet-lag,” he quips right back at you. “Funeral is on the eighteenth. My ex-wife is going to be there, so, uh, yeah. That _might_ be awkward.”

You shrug. “I was bound to meet her at some point I guess.”

“As far as my own family goes, there's going to be a lot of annoying aunts and drunk uncles, and possibly a bunch of judgmental looks and comments regarding the age difference thing. Hell, maybe even just the _gay_ thing. Or my gay thing. You're not gay, right?”

You nod at his last comment, before he starts doing the fidgeting-trying-not-to-make-facial-expressions thing, so you sigh a little bit before calling him out. “You're doing the thing, dude. Out with it.”

He's a little sheepish, and he averts his gaze as he asks, “Can I go to Japan with you? Kind of want to get out of here for a while.”

“I'm going to be there for a week, then we're going to… England? I think. You're—you're gonna be on your own if you want to go home after Japan.” You shrug, and shovel some rice into your mouth, praying you don't choke on it, given your history with rice.

“Can we add England onto the trip then?”

“You sure you can take a month off of work?”

“I'm my own boss, dude. I can take off as much time as I want.”

“True.”

He sticks a fist out to you, trying to go in for a fist bump, but you fuck up, thinking he was going in for a high-five, so you just grab his fist, which causes him to start losing his shit.

“Quit laughing at me, asshole.”

“Never,” and then he's leaning over for a quick, yet sweet, kiss.

 

The funeral is fucking awkward. His ex-wife is nice, and you talk to her while Dallon's getting assaulted on all fronts by concerned relatives. (She also gives you the 'if you hurt him, I'll kill you' speech, which you weren't really expecting. You should've expected it, though, since she obviously still cares about him, especially given the seven years they were married and the three years they were together before being married.)

You get a few invasive questions from some of his relatives, but most everyone takes to giving you weird looks.

Eventually Dallon strides over, looking pissed off. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ, I am _never_ going to another _fucking_ funeral.” He gives his ex-wife a quick side hug, and greets her, then pecks you on the cheek, and smirks a bit when you scrub your cheek and give him a dirty look.

“That's a lie, and you know it,” His ex-wife deadpans. You snort at the, “Shut up,” look that comes across his face.

“Okay, okay, at least not for another five years. I don't know how many more 'I'm so sorry for your loss' or 'Are you really gay?'s I can take before I jump off of a high-rise.”

“You're pretty gay, dude. I don't know how they can't see it. Also, sorry for your loss.”

His ex-wife smirks at you, saying, “I'm sure you'd know,” which causes Dallon to rub a hand down his face.

“You,” he points at his ex-wife, “shut up. And _you_ ,” he points at you next, “are an asshole.”

You turn to his ex-wife. “I just love it when he uses pet names.”

She laughs, and you're glad you have the woman's approval, because this funeral would have been so much more awkward if you didn't.

 

The trip to Japan is fucking exhausting. The three of you fly from JFK to Cincinnati, then from Cincinnati to LAX, _then_ from LAX to whatever airport the three of you had landed at in Japan. It takes, roughly, twenty hours, and you're fucking exhausted by the time you reach the hotel.

To add to the exhaustion, you get into a fucking _fight_ with Dallon. Initially, you were just a tad bit annoyed at him leaving clothes strewn about. Instead of, you know, _picking up his fucking shit,_ he starts picking at you over your hair products and various other beauty products that you take with you wherever you go being all over the counter in the bathroom. “They're in _one_ spot, and they're in a fucking corner so they're not in the way. You have your fucking shit all over the damn room, and we've only been here for an _hour._ ” Copping an attitude probably isn't the best choice, if you're honest.

Oh, shit, you drew a scoff out of him. _Wow_. “Why are you so fucking butt-hurt over the clothes? It's not like I,” he walks over to his suitcase, unzips it, and just fucking— “dumped my entire suitcase out all over the floor.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He has his hands on his hips now, and the two of you go back and forth for another ten minutes or so before he says something really uncalled for. Or, well, in your opinion, at least. “Quit acting like a _child!_ Get over it!”

“You're the one who's being a fucking cunt, Dallon!”

“And _you're_ the one who picked the fucking fight.” Arms crossed and a cold glare—nice.

“You could've just picked your _fucking_ clothes up, but you had to just absolutely dump every single fucking thing you own onto the floor, and now you're yelling at _me_ about it? Jesus—I don't have to take this shit.” You throw your arms up in the air before stomping over to where your shoes are, putting them on as quick as you can, then walking out of the room, slamming the door behind you.

 

On the elevator ride down a few floors to Tyler's room, it takes everything in you to hold back tears. Once you've knocked on the door, and once it flies open, he's saying, “What the _fuck_ did I tell you about waking me up?”

And _that's_ when the tears start coming. You're fucking exhausted, frustrated, _angry,_ and _upset._

“Jesus Christ, what did he do?” He's ushering you into the room now, and trotting over to the mini-fridge in the room to grab a bottle of water. “Shut the door.”

You explain the situation, you cry more, mostly out of frustration, then _eventually_ you descend into a fucking panic attack, which is really _not_ what you needed. Your little meltdown (panic attack sounds a little over-dramatic to you) draws out the sympathetic and not asshole side of Tyler. He's still a little harsh, but not as harsh as usual.

“You're going to drink the water, _breathe,_ then you're going to follow me back up to your room, because you need to talk to him and sort this shit out.”

You honestly don't know why you're not an actor, what with the _dramatic_ way you like to word things. “He probably hates me.”

“Brendon, for the love of God—You've been with him for two years, he looks at you the way I look at my boyfriend, and he bends over backwards trying to please you. Shit, he worships the fucking ground you walk on. He's not going to drop you just because of some dumb fight over _laundry._ Look, let me share some of my coveted wisdom with you. Couples fight, it's a normal thing that happens to literally everyone, and lord knows I've had it out with _my_ boyfriend innumerable times.

“Anyways, no offense, but you're what—twenty-two? You're pretty young, and what I'm trying to get at here is that shit happens, alright? I don't know him very well on a personal level, but I know the dude is head over fucking ass for you.” He gives you an awkward pat on the back to finish his little rant.

 

The room is spotless when you step back in, and you're barely able to get the door closed before Dallon's across the room and _hugging_ you. _Forty-six minutes can do a lot to a person apparently._

“I'm so fucking sorry. I was out of line.”

“I'm sorry too. Not gonna lie, but that was kind of a dumb fight.”

He huffs a bit. “I can't argue.” He pulls away to give you a suggestive look, before asking, “How does make up sex sound?” All you can really do is let out an ugly laugh at him.

 

Tyler is up your fucking ass when the three of you meet for breakfast. “Are you serious? _Hickeys?_ Those are some fucking dark ones too—Jesus, they might not be able to cover them up,” He's frowning, and poking at your neck. You get that he's concerned, and rightfully so, but you're tired. Super tired. And jet-lagged.

“Will you leave me alone? I'll cover them up my damn self. I just want some pancakes.”

Both Tyler and Dallon give you looks. “We're in Japan, Brendon. You're not having something we could just make at home.”

 

Half an hour later, the three of you are sitting in a stuffy booth and staring at a menu, before Tyler's saying, “I only know how to speak Japanese. I can't… read it.” He frowns for a few seconds, before, apparently, getting an idea. “Wait—wait—my boyfriend knows how to read it.”

You exchange a look with Dallon as Tyler takes pictures of the whole fucking menu to text to his boyfriend. You lean over to whisper, “Couldn't he have just asked a waiter or waitress?” into Dallon's ear.

He shrugs and makes an 'I have no clue' face.

It takes another ten minutes before Tyler gets a long as hell text message, which you're obviously going to assume is a transcript of the menu. “Okay, he's suggesting we have one of these ones,” he points at each item, and describes what they are before continuing, “He thinks some of the other items might be offensive to our white-people palettes. Which I resent. Hell—he's mostly white himself; he isn't one to talk.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Can we just order our food? I'm tired. Very, very tired.”

 

After breakfast, the three of you go back to the hotel before Tyler takes off to go do his own thing, and Dallon talks you into going shopping. “Look, the clothes here are way different than they are in America. It's fucking cool, and you seem like the kind of person to dig stuff like that.”

You get him in the ribs with your elbow. “You're a little presumptuous.”

“Two years is more time than you think it is,” he's muttering as the two of you walk down a busy sidewalk. “I pay attention and listen to you more than you think I do.”

“I never said you didn't,” comes your little sing-song response. You get a pointed look, so you stick your tongue out at him, then let out a quick little giggle after he plants a quick kiss on your lips.

“I'd offer to take you on a date, but we'd have to have Tyler with us to translate through his boyfriend, who'd probably be asleep or busy by the time we'd be there. Added, Tyler would just kill the mood in general.” He's ranting a little bit, and you're nodding.

“We could order room service or something and have, like, a makeshift date there? Not the most romantic, but _as long as we have each other,_ ” the last part comes out is an overly whimsical tone before you're trying to kiss him on the cheek.

He scoffs at you, and pushes you away, saying, “Get off me, you load.”

“Oh, that's a new one. I'm diggin' the pet names, dude.”

“I feel like 'dude' is your pet name for me. Or 'man.' Hell, maybe even both.”

“Dude, no. If I had a pet name for you, then it'd be either really fucking weird or really corny and gross. Look—you should be glad I don't call you 'daddy.'”

He makes a gagging noise. “If you ever call me 'daddy' I will kick you out. I'm not even kidding.”

You give him a look. “You're full of shit and you know it.”

“Okay, I'd at least give you the stink-eye for a few days. I would _possibly_ sleep on the couch if I felt that it was needed.”

“You love your memory foam too much to sleep on the couch, Dallon.”

“True. If I wasn't in a relationship with you, I'd probably be in a relationship with my bed.”

“I would _not_ want to see the type of nasty you'd do with your bed. Like… I sleep there. I don't want it to be ruined for me.”

“With some of the shit we've done, anything I would do with my bed would be _tame.”_

Your face goes red as you think of a few things. “Shut up.”

 

You're exhausted, or, well, at least more than you were before, after you're done shopping. The two of you take a bus back to the hotel, and you're a little giddy, which you will _never_ admit to, since your darling of a boyfriend held your hand during the ride. You figure that he feels a little guilty about the fight, and that it's the reason he's being sweeter and more affectionate than he usually is, but, hey, you'll take what you can get.

 

The night before the three of you are due in London, Dallon offers to share a few cigarettes with you. Sharing cigarettes, or joints, means the two of you are going to have a deep, meaningful talk. You're the one who starts off the conversation this time. “Why do you even like me?”

He shrugs. “I just do. There isn't really a particular reason, if I'm honest. At first I just thought you were cute and funny, so I kept coming around, but we became friends, then I got attached, which wasn't a bad thing, by the way, and it kind of just snowballed from there I guess? Your turn. Why do _you_ like me?”

“I guess it's kind of the same answer that you had. You know, when I first met you, I got all kinds of nervous. Like, red in the face, butterflies in the stomach, heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my _ears_ nervous. It was kind of scary at first, because I never really felt like that with any boyfriends or girlfriends that I'd had in high school.”

“That's pretty gay.”

“Shut up, you're ruining a moment. Anyways, sometimes I still get that feeling. Like, you'll do something, probably smiling or laughing at something, maybe doing something super romantic and/or sweet, and then _bam—_ I feel like I did when you kissed me the first time. It's fuckin' weird.”

“I definitely had that feeling super bad at first. It was weird to me, since I was thirty, and I'd never really felt like that because of a person. Part of why my ex-wife started noticing, uh, things, you know,” he makes a hand gesture, “was because I, apparently, looked happier and I was perking up quite a bit. I never told her, but I think she figured out pretty quickly that I'd been having an affair.”

“I guess I can cross 'home wrecker' off of my bucket list.”

He nudges you with his elbow and passes the cigarette. “Hush, you. We would've ended up getting a divorce anyways, whether or not you were in my life. It probably wouldn't have happened when it did, but, you know.”

“Yeah.” A silence settles over the two of you before you make a slightly sarcastic remark; “At least I made you _happy.”_

“I wasn't kidding, Brendon.” He suddenly looks super serious, and, Jesus, either you fucked up or he's about to say something super romantic/meaningful. “You did, and still _do,_ make me happy. You're kind of the love of my life. You've been kind to me; kinder than _anyone_ I've ever known. You're the first person I've been able to trust with, like, personal shit. There'd been a few people before you that I'd tried trusting, but more often than not, I'd end up getting screwed over in some way, whether it be people gossiping, or just betraying me.”

“I've kind of dealt with, uh, trust issues I guess. I had a boyfriend through my sophomore and half way through my senior year. He was super nice, you know? I know I was fifteen to seventeen around the time, but in my opinion, it was kind of a serious relationship. I loved him. I wasn't _in love_ with him like I am with you, but I did love him. He was the first person I came out to as bi, and he was totally cool with it, since he was bi too, apparently. This should've been the first red flag, but, uh, he outed me to our friend group without my consent. I was fucking lucky, but everyone was cool with it, and no one had an issue.”

“There's more to it, isn't there?”

“Of course there is. I spent two and a half years of my life putting up with his shit. I'll just be blunt; he was, or is, abusive. We were really good for a few months, but then he started getting weird I guess? Like, I met Pete on MySpace, and we were pretty good friends. We emailed each other and texted quite a bit, but uh, Ryan, the guy, he had an issue with it. He had some weird fucking idea that I was going to cheat on him with Pete. Like, no offense to Pete, but I wouldn't touch his ugly ass with a ten foot pole.”

Dallon snorts.

“I'm joking. He isn't ugly. He's just not my type. My type of guy would have to be tall, lanky, and pretty. Both you and Ryan fit the description. Anyways, back the story. He made me delete Pete's number from my phone, and block him on MySpace, which was just fucking dumb. He lived in _Chicago,_ and I lived in _Vegas._ I was sixteen. There wasn't any way whatsoever I was going to go to Chicago. Anyways, that happened with a bunch of my friends, and it was to the point that I had no one else in my life _except_ him.”

“What a prick.”

“Yeah. I dunno. He would like, ridicule me, and put me down a lot. For example, I'd send him a mirror selfie, and ask him if, hey, the outfit I was wearing looked good, or whatever, and he'd make about five hundred comments about how _tacky_ I looked, or he'd comment on my weight or hair or some other shit. I'm skinny as hell now because of the modeling thing, which isn't healthy, yet that's how shit has to work I guess, but like, when I was in high school I was a little chubby. I was going through puberty and that's like, a normal thing. He'd pick on me about it, though, saying shit like, 'Oh, no one wants a fat friend. You're not going to make any friends unless you lose weight.'

“ _Or_ if I shot some ideas towards him in regards to like, music, or writing or whatever, he'd pretty much just skim whatever I showed him, then would make a snide comment and over the course of two and a half years that totally chipped away at my confidence or whatever. I probably could've been a musician if it weren't for him.”

“Can I go to Las Vegas and fucking punch this guy?” Dallon's frowning, and he looks a little pissed off.

“No. Let me finish my story. You remember Josh? Kinda short, a little buff, insanely messy hair? He was at the Starbucks sometimes.”

“I think I remember seeing him a few times. Didn't he cover Pete's shifts when Pete was hungover or too stoned to do anything?”

“Yeah, he did. About half way through my junior year, I started talking to Pete again. Secretly, of course. I met Josh through him. I _kind of_ got drunk in the middle of my senior year, I think, and I ended up calling Josh and like, spilling my fucking _soul_ out to him. Imagine a twenty-one, or twenty-two year old, I cant remember, being kept up until four in the fucking morning listening to a plastered seventeen year old cry about his shitty boyfriend. He's the one who pointed out that it wasn't healthy, and he told Pete, which I was a little pissed off about at first, but, Pete ripped me a new asshole and told me to drop Ryan.

“When I dropped Ryan, he indirectly outed me to my parents. I think that's how you'd say it. Anyways, he's pretty much the reason I got kicked out when I was eighteen. Also, I forgot to mention it, but he _kind of_ cheated on me a whole bunch throughout the relationship, and I kept forgiving him, which was fucking dumb.” You sigh, before stubbing your cigarette out and motioning for Dallon to light another one. “I'm kind of surprised I trusted you right off the bat, especially given the situation with the affair. That was different, though.”

“It was still fucking shitty of me to do that to my ex-wife, with or without context. I mean, this definitely wasn't a fling, obviously, but I _was_ married and when it comes down to it, I fucked up. It was definitely one of the best fuck-ups of my life, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I understand it.”

“I'm going to promise you right now that I will _never_ do that to you, whether it be cheating or shitting all over anything and everything you do. You deserve to be treated like royalty and nothing less. Just—look—I love you more than you could imagine, and if I could, I'd probably give you the world.”

You shove him in the shoulder a bit. “You're a fucking sap,” is what you say with a roll of your eyes before putting a hand on his cheek and going in for a slow, and, honestly, romantic as fucking hell kiss. “I'm promising that too. I'll never fuck around on you, and I'll support you. Unless you're being dumb, then I'll call you out. Otherwise, though, I'm _basically_ your personal cheerleader.”

“Yet you call me a sap.”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

 

The flight from Japan to England is a little… eventful. It's mostly boring as shit, but near the end of the flight, you catch Dallon with his head back and his mouth wide open, snoring slightly. You kick Tyler in the shin, and motion for him to hand you his bottled water. He immediately knows what you're about to do, so he happily complies.

You quietly uncap it, and pour just the tiniest bit of it into his mouth. He wakes up immediately coughing and spitting before giving _you_ a dirty look, especially since you're laughing your ass off. “I could've fucking choked, you prick.”

Once you've recovered, you put a hand on his shoulder, and reply with, “But you didn't. Lighten up a little and accept the fact that when I see an opportunity, I have to take it.”

He's glaring, but saying, “You're lucky I love you.”

You kiss him.

Tyler gags.

 

You've walked in quite a few fashion shows by now, but the thing about this one that's throwing you off and making you break your focus is your fucking boyfriend sitting basically right in front of you, watching you with a critical eye. You so desperately want to give him a dirty look, and tell him to quit looking at you like that, but you can't. Tyler would have your head, as would about twenty other people.

You have look cold, act emotionless, and you can't falter for even a second. You have to stand up straight, look forward, and you _cannot_ look at the ground, which is almost hell for you, since you're a clumsy shit. You manage, though, and you thank the lord that, generally, you're not wearing shoes with a wickedly large heel/sole.

You honestly don't know _why_ you enjoy this so much. It's stressful, you have to keep on top of maintaining a certain weight, along with not being able to wear anything overly comfortable, in fear of being called a slob or whatever else, plus the aforementioned things, but you just _do._

Maybe it's the aspect of adventure. You get to travel the fucking world, you've made so many _friends,_ or so you'd like to think, and you get to experience so many different cultures. It's amazing, honestly. You also enjoy the money. There wasn't much to be made at first, but, to quote Tyler, you're fucking lucky to have landed some of the jobs you have, and, essentially, even if you weren't living with or in a relationship with Dallon, you'd still be living pretty fucking comfortably.

And, as per usual, things _always_ come back to Dallon. You like the traveling, you do, but you get homesick, and it feels so _rewarding_ and _satisfying_ to be able to come home to the man you love. You haven't admitted it to yourself, at least at this point in your life, but you wouldn't be adverse to the idea of spending the rest of your life with him. It's so fucking corny.

 

The Friday of the second week in England is the one day Tyler isn't going to be busy, so he forces you to go 'shopping' with him. “Look, Dallon's busy today, and he was busy yesterday, so you can't use that as an excuse, and you've been cramped up in the room since Wednesday, _plus_ I need help with something, so get your skinny ass up and _come on.”_

 

During the car ride to whatever store he's taking you to, you're informed that he's planning to propose to his boyfriend of almost ten years, and best friend of a little over fifteen years. “Look, we've been together since we were seventeen, and I've been planning this out for a few years. It's just—it's time, you know?”

You kind of like when he talks about his boyfriend. It's cute. He gets this soft, fond little expression on his face, and it's one of the only ones you don't rag on him for. You've only seen him be cold or vaguely pissed off, which you're used to, but it's kind of endearing to see how much of a pushover he is with his boyfriend.

“I don't think he's going to say 'no.' We've discussed it a bit in the past, and he's not averse to the idea, so I figured, _what the hell,_ I've been wanting to since we were twenty-four, so I might as well. If anything, I'm kind of excited to see what corny response or look he's going to give me when I ask.”

“How are you going to ask?”

“Our anniversary of like, dating, is on his birthday, which is in June, so we're probably going to go out for a fancy meal or whatever, and I'm going to pull the ol' schtick of doing it in a restaurant. I don't want to put him on the spot, but it's the only time I can think of doing it to where he wont get suspicious. I dunno, I just want a second opinion on a ring, just so I don't fuck it up.” He shrugs.

The conversation goes on for a while before he asks, “Do you think you're ever going to marry Dallon?”

“I think that, yeah, eventually I probably will, but we haven't talked about it in detail or in a context that isn't either of us joking around. I don't want to do it right now, because I'm too busy, and, admittedly, too young.”

“Which one of you are going to pop the question?” He's a little amused as he asks this, which causes you to let out a bit of a dejected sigh. He's so insufferable.

“He probably will. I'm one for grand gestures and all, but that's like, the one gesture I couldn't see myself pulling. I think it's kind of an insecurity based thing. Also, it'd have to be the right moment, and those moments are rare. Literally every landmark in our relationship has just been out of nowhere and totally impromptu.”

The next question he asks makes you choke on your spit from laughing out of shock. “When did the two of you fuck for the first time?”

“Jesus, Tyler, you're fuckin' blunt.”

“Look, we're having a moment, so let me ask questions while I can.”

“Weirdo. About a month after we met. We were hanging out, then he _literally_ asked, 'Can I kiss you?' It snowballed from there.”

“Is that when the two of you started dating or whatever?”

“Nah. On the first of February, like, two years ago, I got an eviction notice from my shitty fucking landlord at the time, there wasn't really even a reason, and given that I didn't have a lease and that the apartment was shitty anyways, it wasn't really worth going to court over. Basically Dallon asked if I wanted to move in, and I literally said, I shit you not, 'What are we?' How much of a fuck boy can I be?”

“That's… that's kind of bad, dude. No offense,” He's snickering a bit.

“Fuck off. Basically he said he kind of considered us boyfriends, so then we actually verbally agreed on it, _then_ we fucked. It was totally classy.”

“Good job.”

“How did you and _your_ boyfriend, hopefully soon to be fiance, get together?”

“On his seventeenth birthday, one of his friends, Pete, I think, maybe it was someone else, I don't know, but anyways, one of them planned out some huge surprise party for him, right? There was alcohol involved, but essentially either of us were kind of drunk, he gave me a blow job, I gave him a hand job, and then we were like, 'Yo, why haven't we done this before?' Now we're going on ten years. Totally the best thing to start a relationship off with.”

“Wait—Can I ask another question?”

“You're going to ask it anyways, and we both know it.”

“Smart-ass.”

“What's your question?”

“Are you the fucker Josh told me about who climbed to the top of a four story building?”

Tyler slams on the fucking breaks and gives you an incredulous look. “Aside from you knowing my boyfriend—did he _seriously_ fucking tell you that story?”

You're laughing the hardest you think you ever have, and nodding.

“He's fucking _dead.”_

“Can I call you Spiderman?”

“No.”

 

Just as you're about to walk into your hotel room, you get a text from Josh.

 

 **Josh:** somehow I never thought to call him spider man.

 **Brendon:** well ur bad at jokes

 

“Dallon, holy fuckin' shit, I have about five hundred stories I need to tell you.”

“Uh, _honey,” Oh god,_ “I'm kind of in a business meeting right now. Can we hold off on the f-bombs and the swearing for at least another half an hour?”

“Oops. Can I grab a change of clothes so I can go shower in Tyler's room or something?”

“Of course. _Anyways,”_ he goes back to talking to whoever, and you're quick about grabbing a change of clothes before slipping out.

 

Dallon shoots you a text message a few hours after you'd finished showering, and about an hour after getting into a discussion over Taco Bell, then eventually just fast food in general, of all fucking things, with Tyler. Essentially Dallon's informing you that, finally, he is free, and that you can go tell him your five hundred stories. You blow him off for another twenty minutes so you can finish up your discussion with Tyler.

 

When you walk into the room, you wince at the look on Dallon's face. It's his 'I'm really fucking close to crying because I am so fucking stressed' face, and you literally just want to wrap him in blankets and cover him in cats and probably not rabbits since cats have a tendency to go after small animals, but, look, he needs blankets and cute things in his life.

You kick your shoes off and set your clothes from earlier down next to your suitcase before walking over to the bed. “You alright?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. I went to some meeting this morning in an actual office, and that was stressful as hell, since no one really knew who I was, and my reputation of apparently being an asshole came back to bite me in the ass, so I had to deal with everyone being fucking _rude_ and disrespectful. It literally took everything in my not to rip into someone. Once I got back to the hotel, I was so fucking close to eating something then taking a nap, but then my _lawyer_ called me on Skype, and I was stuck in a discussion with her and my parents' lawyer for a few hours.”

“Why your parents' lawyer?” You ask in the gentlest tone possible as you crawl across the bed to lay next to him. You have your head propped up with one of your arms, and the other arm thrown across his chest.

His voice starts doing the wavering and breaking thing as he says the next part. “I'm an only child, and, obviously, they weren't expecting to kick it before my grandparents, so I'm the sole beneficiary of literally every single fucking thing they own, and—” he scrubs at his eyes for a few seconds before continuing, “—I have to go to fucking _Utah_ to clear their house out or what the fuck ever it is I need to do and Jesus—how is this happening?”

“I don't know how, but if it helps, I have a few months off after this trip, mostly since it's nearly summer, so, if you want, I could go with you.”

“I'd appreciate it. I'm probably going to give most of their stuff to secondhand stores, then keep, like, sentimental shit or whatever. Maybe sell the house, who knows. Fuck—can I get dark here for a second?”

“No. Never. I can't believe you'd even ask that. I'm… offended. I'm going home right now. How _dare_ you.”

“Oh, fuck off, you prick.” The dumb little grin on his face betrays his imperative.

“You don't really even have to ask, dude.”

“I'm pretty fucking freaked out. I had to go identify their bodies and, believe me, it was _not_ a pretty sight. I fuckin' threw up at the morgue. It's only been about a month and all, but I keep having these shitty fucking nightmares where, instead of my parents, it's people I know, and I don't like it _._ I'm just a simple guy. All I want in life is decent Chinese take-out and a comfortable couch.”

“What about a cute boyfriend?” You give him a _slightly_ shit-eating look.

“That too. _I guess.”_

You try to frown at him, and he tries to frown back, but that only lasts for _maybe_ five seconds before either of you are laughing like it's the funniest thing in the world.


	22. part two of the second or third draft of cosmetic

June 19th, you get a text, bright and fucking early, from Tyler.

 

 **Tyler:** Okay we're engaged but I have a story for you.

 **Tyler:** It's not really a long one, honestly, but last night we went on a date for the anniversary/his birthday, right?

 **Tyler:** I was _so_ fucking close to popping the question, then _he_ was the one who got down on his fucking knee.

 **Tyler:** Here's what I said: “You motherfucker, you stand up and get back in your seat. You are _not_ beating me to this.”

 **Tyler:** Basically we ended up having a pissing contest over who was going to propose first.

 **Brendon:** im happy for you but its six in the fuckin' morning

 **Tyler:** I've been up or an hour, it's not my fault you sleep in.

 

You grunt, then rub your eyes a bit before tossing your phone aside and sitting up. You get maybe a minute or two to try waking up before Dallon steps out of his bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. Like, really low on his hips. Super low.

“I didn't wake you up, did I?”

“Nah,” _yawn,_ “Tyler texted me his story about how his proposal went, and it woke me up.”

“Ah. How did it go?”

“Josh beat him to it.”

He laughs. “Karma finally bit him in the ass, I see.”

“I probably would've laughed if I had been there, honestly. I feel like that's the sort of thing that'd happen to us.” Your roll your eyes before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

“I'm not marrying you, Brendon.”

“Rude,” you're grumbling as you stand up and start sauntering over to the door. “Did you make coffee yet?”

“Nah. Can you do it?”

“Yeah. Which one do you want?”

'“The expensive one in the blue bag. Please.”

“Alright, man, I got you.”

He kisses you on the cheek when you walk by him, and, _really?_ You have the butterflies in the stomach thing going on when he does that.

 

A few hours and four cups of coffee later, you get a phone call from Pete.

You answer, saying, “Aren't you supposed to be at work?”

_“Nah, I quit._ _Anyways, I have a proposition for you.”_

“As long as it doesn't involve anything super illegal then I'm your man. Hit me, dude.

 _“Such a rebel you are. Glad to see I've rubbed off on you. Alright, look, Patrick has a job offer in Los Angeles, like,_ record deal _kind of job offer, and he kind of needs someone to pretend to be his manager. I can't do it because I don't clean up super well and I'm a horrible liar, and everyone else we've asked can't do it due to conflicting schedules, so you're the next choice.”_

“I don't have anything going on for the next month and a half, so I guess I could _try._ When does he have to be in LA?”

_“There's a meeting scheduled for the_ _thirte_ _enth_ _,_ _and Patrick is absolutely fucking refusing to take a flight, so we're going to have to drive, and I don't know if_ _we_ _could make it in two and a half weeks.”_

“I think the ride from NYC to Los Angeles would be around forty hours if we just go nonstop, but I'm not sitting in a fucking car for forty hours. If we drove ten hours a day, though, we could probably do it in a week.”

_“How the hell do you know that?”_

“Google, and I've been all over the country _and_ the world for the past year, so that _might_ have something to do with it.”

 _“Are you_ sure _Dallon isn't your sugar daddy?”_

“Haha, Pete, I am just… so amused. It's as if I haven't heard that from you and every other fucking person in the world. I pay for most of the shit I do anyways, Jesus.” You're a bit miffed. You don't _leech_ anything from him aside from warmth. To reiterate, you're fucking cold all the damn time. You hate that people assume you're with him for the money. You're groaning. Spiritually. Maybe hitting your head on a wall spiritually as well.

_“Smart ass. You got anything going on today?”_

“Nah. I was going to binge watch something on Netflix and then binge on junk food while doing that.”

_“_ _Awesome. Can we hang out or something today and hash out the details?”_

“Uh, sure.”

The two of you go back and forth for a few more minutes, before you start making your way to the seedy part of New York City that held Pete's apartment that he shared with Patrick, then sitting around, possibly (probably) smoking some weed, and doing the aforementioned task of hashing out the details of what you're going to assume is a road trip and you pretending to be a manager.

 

The first thing Pete says when he opens his door is, “Jesus, you're fucking skinny.”

“I'm aware. Kind of have to maintain a certain body type given my career choice.” You shrug and step into the apartment. You like their apartment. You hadn't been to their apartment in about a year, probably, but you like it because it's like a _home._ It's lived in. You like Dallon's house, you do, but he's religious about keeping it clean, and you haven't been there for the better part of the last six months anyways.

“Can I order some pizzas?” You ask as you sit down on their couch next to Patrick and Pete makes himself at home on the floor.

“I'm always a slut for pizza.”

Patrick's muttering something along the lines of, “Why do I put up with him?” and at the same time as Pete says, “Because you love me,” you're saying, “Because you're gay.”

You get a quick punch to the arm from Patrick and a round of ugly laughs from Pete.

 

Pete slips out after the three of you have eaten as much pizza as possible. You figure he's giving you some _alone time_ with Patrick. “Why are you getting offered a record deal?” You're curious. You genuinely are. You hope you don't sound… condescending.

“I have a Soundcloud account and a YouTube, and, _apparently_ , someone important saw them. I have four record labels up my ass with record deals, but the Los Angeles one is the one I want to go with. Creative freedom and all, you know?”

“Definitely. Why aren't you flying?”

“I hate planes. I'll probably have to go on one eventually, but I'm avoiding it as long as I possibly can.”

“We're not using my car. Horrible gas mileage and not enough space for three people plus luggage.”

“Oh, Pete's not going. I love him, I do, but I'm not spending a week in a fucking car with him.”

“Alright then. Does he know?”

“...No.”

“Dude, we need to leave within the next few days. Seriously?” You give a slightly disappointed and miffed face.

“I'll tell him. He's going to be butt-hurt, though.”

“He's your boyfriend, dude. He can get over his shit.” You nudge his arm. “You've got shit going for you, dude. If he gets upset then he's an asshole.”

He shrugs. “Man, I just want to pay the fuckin' rent. I don't care if I get famous or whatever. Kind of just want to survive in general.”

 

You get home around eight, totally not a tad bit high. You tuck your keys into the pocket of one of your jackets that are hanging on the coat hooks, kick your shoes off, before making your way towards the living room. Dallon's head pokes up over the back of the couch, and he's making grabby hands, trying to coerce you into kissing him.

 _Fuck, you're adorable._ “Shut up, Brendon,” _and_ you apparently said that out loud.

“I didn't mean to say that out loud. Oops.”

“Just kiss me, dude.”

The kiss isn't as quick as you'd expected, and you only get about an inch away from his face before he's saying, “You smell like weed.”

“And you smell like whiskey.”

“Fair point.”

 

“Seriously, Brendon? We've only been home for a _week.”_ He's leaning against the door frame to the room that's supposed to be yours, despite how little you use it, arms crossed, watching you while you're folding your own laundry and setting things aside for the road trip.

“And now I'm going to spend another three weeks driving across the states to pretend to be Patrick's manager. I'm sorry, Dallon, I am, and I _know_ we need to spend time together outside of traveling, but this could be fucking _huge_ for Patrick, and he's one of my best friends, you know?” You sigh, and look over to him with a sympathetic but kind of stern look. “This was unexpected. I had every intention of not going anywhere for a few months, and I know it's a really bad time given, you know, the _thing_ ,” the thing being his _parents_ , “but c'mon, you have to understand. After this I'll be home at _least_ until September. I still have college and shit.”

He's walking into the room now, and stopping only once he's in front of you. He's such a corny and sappy motherfucker, and you realize this when he says, “I know. Sorry. I just like coming home to you and I can't really do that when you're not here.” _Then_ he's pulling you into an embrace, and you can hear his heart beating from where your head is on his chest. “I kinda miss sleeping in the same bed as you. I _really_ miss eating dinner with you, or passing out on the couch watchin' Netflix.”

“It's not as if I don't miss doing that stuff either, dude. I'm surprised I haven't had a case of blue-balls yet.”

He lets out a quick huff of laughter. “You have some weird priorities.”

“And _you_ have high expectations. Just—look—three weeks. That's it. Two of them are going to be spent _driving._ I'm going to be exhausted afterward and _really_ not wanting travel.”

 

Pete's a little miffed when you show up at their apartment on Monday, and you figure it's because Patrick informed him that he was not, in fact, going with the two of you. He still helps either of you pack luggage and other road trip necessities into the trunk of Patrick's car. The two of you end up having a rock-paper-scissors scissors contest to see who gets to drive first, and, as usual, you lose, meaning you get to drive first.

 

The first hour is a little awkward. You've got the radio turned to a classic rock station, and you're just waiting for the minute it cuts out. Patrick's humming a little bit, and tapping his fingers, and you're just staring at all of the fucking cars ahead of you, around you, behind you, and just all over the goddamn place.

Once the radio cuts out, you turn it off, and that's when Patrick drops the bomb. “I'm thinking about breaking up with Pete.”

“Jesus—Don't drop that shit when I'm driving. I almost slammed on the breaks.” You spare him a glance before asking, “Why? The two of you have been together for fuckin' ever. Like, instead of Adam and Eve it's Patrick and Pete. That's how things have been since I met him, and by association, _you.”_

“Yeah, well, not everything lasts, you know?” He sighs, and, oh god, you're in for a deep conversation. It's not as if you're against it, because hey, you've been meaning to get to know the guy better, but you don't think your brain can handle it. You're tired as hell. “I don't know—he's been really clingy. He's always been like that, but it's been way too much lately. It's like I can't go anywhere without him tagging along or questioning me or texting me every ten seconds, and I don't want to say anything because when I have in the past, he's basically had emotional breakdowns every single time.”

“Okay, honestly, man, you should just tell him. If you don't, you're probably going to just blow up one day, or you're just going to be fucking miserable, and that's—like—that isn't a way to live, you know?”

“I know. I'll get around to it. I love Pete as much as I possibly can, but it's not working out. We want different things. Surprisingly, he's the one who wants to settle down, and be all domestic, but I just want to _do_ things, and _live._ Fuck, that's why I moved to New York with him, you know? I wanted to get the hell out of Chicago. I don't want to stay home and start a family just yet. I could see it definitely happening eventually, but I'm twenty _six._ I've got at least another five years left in me before any of that happens.”

“Have you talked to him about any of that?”

“No. I don't know how to bring it up. He's always talking about the life he wants to build with me, or whatever, not his exact words but you get the idea, and I don't know how to tell him I _don't_ want that yet.”

“You just do. I mean, I know you're four years older than me, and I'm probably not one to give advice, but you should just be blunt, dude. What do _you_ want? Like, specifically.”

“Well, there's a chance I'm going to be able to start a career. If I have a career in music, I'll be touring a lot, eventually, and I just won't have _time_ to settle down. I don't _know_ if he gets that, or if he will. I'm probably going to have to be in LA, or somewhere that's probably not New York, if I ever professionally record an album or an EP or something. Anyways—sorry. Man, I just fucking wish I could have a relationship that's—like—fuck, you and Dallon, for example. You're all over the damn place but the two of you aren't breaking up.”

“Things aren't always perfect, though. I mean, we probably won't break up, and I don't—I don't see that ever happening, or at least not any time soon, but the long distance shit has been a little hard. I mean, I'm only home for a week or two at a time, but when I leave I'm gone for anywhere from a few days to a _month.”_

“How's it hard? I haven't really dealt with that yet.”

“I miss him like a motherfucker whenever I'm gone. I mean, I don't need him to survive, and aside from tuition, I don't really depend on him that much. Or, I try not to at least. It was kind of weird at first when I started going places for jobs or whatever, because it was out of nowhere and after about a year of being around him almost constantly, well, you know, it was just a _bit_ jarring.”

“Oh. Does he miss you?”

You give him a _look._ “Please, he's the clingiest fucker in the world. Of _course_ he does. I try to look at shit through his point of view as much as I can, because he's not the one traveling all the time. He's been having a pretty good year as far as money goes, and he's at a point that he _really_ can't be taking any time off more than necessary, so he's alone a lot of the time.”

“Doesn't he have friends or something?”

“Aside from my friends, he has two, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't talk to them very much. He doesn't trust people very easily. It's the money thing and people taking advantage.” You shrug. “Anyways, point is, things are slow for him or whatever, and shit's fast for me. _Everything_ is happening so fast for me, so I don't think I feel things as much as he does if you get what I mean.”

“Okay, _one_ more important question.”

“Hit me.”

“How big is his dick?”

“Seriously?”

“I haven't gotten the chance to ask, dude. I rarely see you. Tell me _all_ the details of your sex life. Every single one.”

“Alright, Pete Jr.”

“I'm not _that_ invasive.”

“You're getting there.”

“Answer the question, Brendon.”

You glance at him again as a smug little smirk works its way onto your face. “Eight inches.”

Patrick gets a manic grin on his face as he claps you on the shoulder. “ _Sweet._ Please tell me he's a top.”

“For the most part, fuck yeah he is. I take advantage of the Dallon D, dude. I would be an idiot not to.”

“How about Pete?”

Patrick snorts. “You've seen his dick plenty of times. He's not exactly _modest_ about it.”

You start giggling at a certain memory. “Dude, do you remember when I lived with the two of you and he came running out of his room, saying something like, “Guys, I have a _wicked_ boner. You have _got_ to see,” before whipping his fuckin' dick out?”

Patrick's knee jerks up and he claps as he lets out the _ugliest_ laugh. “Shit, I forgot about that. Didn't you throw something at him?”

“I forgot about _that._ I think I threw one of my shoes at him and told him to put it away. Jesus—I have far too many dick stories about him than I'd like to admit.”

“I hate to admit this, but, you probably have about as many as I do.”

 

You make Patrick tough it out until the two of you hit Pittsburgh. Philadelphia has better hotels, but you like Pittsburgh, given that it isn't really that big as far as population goes. New York is fucking bursting at the _seams_ with people, and you enjoy the lack of population density that Pittsburgh offers.

 

“We sharing a room?”

“I'm living comfortably and all, but I'm still stingy on hotel rooms. I'll _try_ to ask about a king size.”

You get a whack in the shoulder. “Fuck off. We're getting separate beds.”

 

By the time Pittsburgh actually happens, you're about ready to throttle Patrick. He's grumpy, probably from being in a car for about eleven hours straight, and he's being a _dick._ He's not snapping at you, but he's bitching about _everything,_ and he's being just a tad bit annoying. You're not in the friendliest of moods either, which doesn't help. “Dude, shut the fuck up for a second. I'm gonna go call Dallon for a few minutes and let him know we're doing alright, then we can go get dinner or something.”

He _sighs_ and plops down onto one of the beds as you pull your phone out and head towards the balcony.

 

“Brendon, _come on,_ you need more than a salad and some water. I've been with you all day and all you've had is a sandwich, _which_ I ate half of anyways.”

“I'm not hungry.” You actually aren't, if you're honest. You don't have much of an appetite, but Patrick seems to think otherwise, and, hell, he even tells you as much. “Look, I had too much pizza on Friday, and I pretty much had a whole bottle of whiskey on Saturday. I don't want to gain any weight.”

Patrick crosses his arms and gives you a pointed look. “How tall are you?”

“Five feet ten inches. Why?”

“How much do you weigh?”

“...Why?”

“Tell me.”

“One-twenty.”

“ _Eat something._ I'll order something for you myself if I have to.” For someone who's six inches shorter than you and looks fifteen _at best,_ he's pretty good at being intimidating and authoritative.

You grumble a bit before waving a waitress over, and apologizing for ordering something else.

 

Day two isn't as bad as day one, mostly since either of you aren't stuck in the car all day, and especially since the two of you end up at Patrick's parents' house in Chicago. His parents are super nice, and they're thrilled when Patrick tells them the news of the possible record deal.

 

Day three is definitely the worst. It's your day to drive, and after a lengthy discussion, the two of you decide just to go straight for Denver rather than stopping in any other states or cities. The drive from Chicago to Denver takes a good twenty hours, and you're fucking exhausted by the time you hit the sheets.

 

Patrick wakes you up after about six hours, and honestly, you think he's about as bad as Tyler, what with waking you up after minimal sleep. “I can't sleep and I don't have the money for breakfast, so be a gentleman and treat me. _Please.”_

You roll over and prop yourself up on an elbow. “Hand me my jeans.” He complies, and you take your wallet out before handing him your debit card and telling him your pin number. “Go to McDonald's or something. I need sleep.”

“What do you want?”

“Will you quit trying to force food down my throat? I'll eat when I want.” You grunt and flop back down onto the pillows.

“Brendon, you fucking love McDonald's. You'd probably suck someone _off_ for McDonald's. I lived with you for four and a half months, dude. What do you want?”

You think for a minute, trying to rack through your tired and groggy mind. “Coffee. _Black._ And uh… chicken nuggets. Ten pack.”

“That sounds better. I'll be back.” He closes the door gently on his way out, and you spend about ten minutes trying to get back to sleep before you write Patrick off as dead after figuring out you _can't_ get back to sleep. You check the time and it's—it's ten. Ten in the fuckin' morning.

You sit up again, and try to figure out what time it is in New York. You think it's around one. Denver's in mountain, right? Or is it central? Shit, you don't know. _It's probably a safe bet just to ask him if he's on his break yet._

 

 **Brendon:** dad are you on your break yet

 **Dallon:** What did I tell you about calling me dad/daddy

 **Brendon:** fuck im half asleep dude auto correct happens I meant dal

 **Dallon:** sure sure

 **Brendon:** answer my question

 **Dallon:** not yet but I can be if you want

 **Brendon:** if it isnt any trouble then that'd be nice tbh I just wanna bullshit while patrick gets breakfast

 

You have to wait another five minutes before your phone is ringing. _“If one more fucking person calls me 'Mr. Weekes' I… probably won't do anything, but mentally I'm going to go on a rampage.”_

“Good morning to you too, Mr. Weekes.”

_“You're just asking for a break up.”_

You yawn about half way through saying, “But I love you.”

_“I don't care. You were the one more. I love you too, but I can't take it, man.”_

“I know that deep down you're a bitch-ass liar.”

You hear him snort. _“How's the road trip going?”_

“Boring as fuck. We drove from Chicago to Denver last night, and didn't get to the hotel until four. We're thinking about driving to Vegas, but I kind of want to save Vegas for, at the very least, Thanksgiving. Hopefully just Christmas.”

_“Fun, fun. Why couldn't you just fly?”_

“Patrick hates flying for whatever reason. I mean, I understand, but I hate road trips. They're so fucking _boring._ He's been up my ass about eating, too. I mean, I'm not going to lie, I need to eat, but my appetite has been so fucking dead.”

_“I'm not going to lie either, but you do. What're you having for breakfast?”_

“Chicken nuggets and coffee. What did you have for breakfast?”

_“_ _Coffee. I'm_ _having take out for lunch, though.”_

“Let me guess—Chinese?”

_“Of course. What else would I have?”_

“I don't even know. When I get back from this trip I'm going to sleep on you for a few days. Just warning you.”

_“I think a pillow and a mattress would be more comfortable than my pectoral.”_

“Shut up and let me be affectionate through the phone.”

 _“I_ guess _I can allow that.”_

“Mhm. How loving. How's work going?”

 _“Similar to your road trip, boring as shit. If I hadn't already taken off a collective two months this year, I'd_ so _be in Ibiza right now. This is a good year, though, so I can't really take a break.”_

“Why Ibiza?” You yawn again, and decide to sit up.

_“Dunno. It's where I usually go for vacations. It's nice. Maybe next summer we could go or something.”_

“Maybe.” Patrick walks back into the room with an armful of McDonald's at that moment, so you say your goodbyes, then stick your tongue out at Patrick when he makes a gagging motion after you've said your 'I love you.'

 

You almost manage to get through Las Vegas without anyone noticing. You made the fatal mistake of going to a Walmart to get an energy drink, though. You'd been reading a label when you hear a loud and _excited_ Spencer, yelling, “Brendon, hey!”

See, you would've been alright if it had just been Spencer, but, no, luck _really_ isn't on your side. When you turn around, Spencer's coming at you, being trailed by _Ryan._ You manage to mutter, “Good fucking god,” before being pulled into a hug.

“Uh, hey, man.” You laugh, nervously, and pray that it doesn't come off as a nervous laugh.

“The hell are you doing in Vegas?” He seems to forget your _beef_ with Ryan. Sure, it's been five years, but an elephant never forgets. Yes, you're an elephant. This whole story is about you being an elephant. A shock, isn't it?

“Road trip. One of my friends got offered a record deal, but he refused to fly from New York to Los Angeles, so, uh, we're driving. I'm supposed to pretend to be his manager.” You make a moment of awkward eye contact with Ryan, and he decides to supply you with an awkward 'I know you hate me but let's pretend to get along for Spencer's sake' grin and a hand to shake.

You look at his hand, then back up to his face with a bored expression. You shake it and you all but yank your hand away when you're done. It's so fucking awkward. So, _so_ awkward. It's weird, because you haven't seen him in so long, and, honestly, he'd quit being real to you after a while. He was more or less just an idea, for lack of a better word.

The hand you'd used to shake his with feels weird. You want to rub it raw, maybe to get rid of the gross feeling you'd gotten from shaking his hand, or maybe to get away from the fucking _memories._ You're shifting a bit awkwardly as you finish making small talk with Spencer before getting the fuck out of the store. (After paying for the energy drink, of course.)

 

You're shaking by the time you get back to your parents' house. Yes, you're staying with your parents. They aren't as insufferable as last time, but you think it's because you don't have Dallon with you. They seem to like Patrick, though, so that's something. You guess.

You kick your shoes off at the door before walking into the kitchen to put your energy drink into the fridge. When you flick the light on, your mother is standing in front of the sink, drinking water, and thoroughly scaring the shit out of you. “Jesus fucking Mary and Joseph—Turn the light on, would ya?” You have a hand over your heart, and you're still trying to regulate your breath from the shock of seeing Ryan.

“Language.”

“I'm twenty two.”

“You're still my _baby.”_ You make a face before sticking the energy drink into the fridge.

“Does dad still keep his liquor in the back of the pantry?”

You get a bored and slightly disappointed look from your mother. “Aren't you leaving in the morning?”

“Patrick's turn to drive.”

She motions towards the pantry, and you give her a thumbs up.

“I'll buy him better liquor as payment.”

“That's just what every mother wants to hear.”

“Right up there next to 'I'm in a relationship with a millionaire who's ten years older than me,' hopefully.”

She lets out a little huff of breath. “So, tell me. How is it going with _him?”_

“Dallon. His name is Dallon. Things are fine, I guess. Not much going on.” You shrug as you look through the cabinets, trying to find a shot glass. “A little stressful, maybe. He hasn't done anything, but I've been traveling a lot for, uh, work, so I haven't really had the chance to see him for more than a collective three months this year.”

“What do you do for work?”

You knock back a shot of shitty tequila before answering. “I'm a model. Loosest terms, of course. I don't really consider myself one, even though that's what I am.” You shrug. “How are things going with you? We don't—we don't really talk, I guess, so, you know.”

You look down into the shot glass, avoiding eye contact as she answers. “Oh, same as always. I work, your father works, we come home, have a meal, then go to bed around ten or eleven. The same as we have been for the past two decades.”

“Sounds fun.” You knock back one more shot before saying, “I'm—uh—I'm going to go to bed, I guess. I'm tired, and I have another five or six hours to be stuck in a car with Patrick before we hit Los Angeles.”

She gives you a small, soft smile, and kisses you on the cheek as you walk past.

 

Patrick's awake when you step into your old room, looking at something on his phone. He gets a glance at you and without missing a beat, he informs you that you look like shit.

“Thanks. I ran into Ryan.”

He winces and makes a small hissing noise. “You alright?”

“I guess.” You pull your shirt off and tell Patrick to scoot over before continuing. “Spencer was with him, and I talked to Spencer for a little bit. I never really told Spencer about the whole situation, so he didn't have a clue about what was going on. I shook Ryan's hand, and I'm kind of tempted to boil my own hand.”

“A little dramatic, but understandable I guess.”

“This is fucking dumb, but like, I'd pretty much forgotten about everything. I mean, I didn't, but he just wasn't _real_ to me anymore. But here I am, on the verge of having a fucking panic attack over seeing him for maybe seven minutes. I'm fucking _shaking._ The last time I was shaking this bad I'd gotten the shit kicked out of me, and that was a year and a half ago.”

“You should sleep. That's _probably_ the worst thing I could've said, but you should.”

You grumble out an agreement before trying. (It takes you probably half an hour to fall asleep.)

 

By two, you're _finally_ in fucking Los Angeles. You basically tell Patrick to fuck himself before going to your own room and passing out for fifteen hours.

 

You take Patrick to a few clubs and bars throughout the week. You like clubbing. Tyler had dragged you to a few clubs in Europe, and it's about the same everywhere. Loud, thumping music, and sweaty people dancing (read: jumping around, essentially). _You_ don't get up to much, given you're in a perfectly fine relationship with probably one of the best people in the world, but _Patrick_ does.

When Friday comes around, you just walk into his room, clad in your _finest_ suit, hair styled _just_ right, looking as intimidating as you possibly fucking can. You'd been practicing your stone-cold bitch face for two days, and you just about had it down until you saw _the thing._ “Patrick, what the _fuck?”_

He shoots up from the bed and makes eye contact with you. His eyes are wider than the fucking _moon,_ and he's cursing. “Shit.”

“Um, _yeah,_ 'shit.'”

The guy next to him, yes, the _guy next to him,_ rolls over and props himself up on his elbows. “Are you two...” He's gesturing back and forth between the two of you with one of his fingers. The guy looks dead tired, and you want to feel bad for waking either of them up, but, Jesus, _what the fuck?_

“Fuck no. I'd sock you in the face if we were, though.” You cross your arms. “Look, I'm not going to ask, nor am I going to say anything, but get up and get dressed in something that isn't god-awful, because we need to get over there within the next hour and a half. And _you,”_ you point at the guy who actually isn't half bad as far as looks go, “need to leave.”

 

The meeting or whatever the fuck you call it goes good. You don't fuck up, and they actually _genuinely_ believe that you're his manager. There's a lot of legal technicalities or whatever, and you end up having to call Dallon to ask a few questions, thanking God that he has a law degree, even though it's a bachelor's, but, in the end, Patrick signs the papers and the two of you get shitfaced in celebration.

 

Saturday, July 14th, you actually and _officially_ write Dallon off as dead. You'd shot him a text about the great news, and he calls you bright and fucking early the next morning.

_“Hey, Brendon.”_

“Fuck you.”

_“Just what every man wants to hear from his boyfriend.”_

“You _know_ I'm hungover. Why are you doing this?”

_“Mostly to be an ass. Anyways, Pete just showed up, and it's, what, two? Anyways, he's fucking plastered, and I have no idea what to do with him.”_

“Jesus. What's wrong with him?”

_“_ _Fuck if I know. He's crying about Patrick, but I can't understand half of what he's saying. Doesn't he have other friends?”_

“Most of them live out of state, and I'm pretty sure Josh is _somewhere_ with Tyler, so don't bother calling him I guess.” You're rambling, and rubbing a hand over your face. “You want me to go wake Patrick up?”

 _“If you would. I like Pete_ _and all_ _, but I don't_ know _him.”_

“Give me about fifteen minutes.”

 

You get about half way from your room to Patrick's before _Tyler_ is calling you. You thought you'd get to go a month without talking to him. Dreams don't always come true, though. _“Were you at a fucking_ club _last night?”_

“Patrick got signed, and we were getting shitfaced to celebrate. What the fuck does this have to do with you?”

 _“Well, as your_ manager, _it's my job to make sure you don't make an_ ass _out of yourself.”_

“I'm hungover, and I have some friend drama going on.”

 _“Fix it. Whatever it is, you fix it. There's a photo of you, Patrick, and some guy going around, and hoo-fucking-boy you_ don't _want to hear some of the remarks people have.”_

“Tyler, I'm a D-List celebrity, _at best._ Who gives a shit? Go pay attention to your fiance, and let me try to salvage whatever is left of Patrick and Pete's relationship. _Shit,_ that's probably why Pete's a fucking mess. He saw the photo.”

 _“I wouldn't be surprised. Anyways, just—don't do anything else. I'm_ trying _to have a good time here.”_

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you, as always.”

_“And fuck you too.”_

You roll your eyes. “Bye.”

_Click._

 

“Patrick, get the fuck up.”

“Why?” He's groaning and throwing a pillow across the room.

“ _Well,”_ you go off on a tangent, explaining the situation, and berating him a bit. “Look, I don't give a shit about your little plane phobia right now, because we're going back to New York, _today,_ you're fixing whatever fucking problem you're having with Pete, and don't give me shit about your car. Cargo planes exist for a reason.”

Patrick looks like he's seen a fucking ghostby the time you're finished, and you're pretty sure you have a glare fierce enough to curdle milk on the spot. He just says, “Okay,” before you're shooed out of the room.

 

 **Brendon:** I know youre not busy today so do you think you could be at JFK in about eight hours

 **Dallon:** can I bring pete with me because he's still here and I don't think he's going to leave

 **Dallon:** also he's drinking my fucking liquor does he know how much I spent on it

 **Brendon:** well you must be crabby because you're not using your proper business speak

 **Dallon:** I was trying to get some paperwork done, and I'd only been up for maybe four hours when he showed up, alright? I have a headache and I'm _really_ lacking the patience to deal with a crying, _drunk_ twenty-seven year old.

 **Brendon:** what about a crying, hungover 22 year old???

 **Dallon:** That's different because I love you.

 **Brendon:** how sweet :)

 **Dallon:** >:(

 

The two of you get back to New York around midnight, and you pretty much have to drag Patrick by the collar of his shirt over to where Dallon's standing with Pete. Dallon has his scary business face, and, wow, he must be fucking pissed. Patrick gets the dirtiest fucking look you've _ever_ seen come from Dallon, and Pete just looks like he wants to run away. You _really_ don't blame him. Whether or not Patrick wants to admit it, he's in the wrong, he fucked up, and he needs to make amends.

 

You knew you were going to have a discussion (read: shit talking session) about the Patrick/Pete situation with Dallon, but you didn't think it was going to happen at two in the morning while the two of you were doing the do for the first time in about three weeks. (Three weeks felt like three years to you. _Such_ a long time.)

You saw the look in his eyes, you knew he was about to say something, and you figured it was either going to be something overly romantic or something extremely vulgar, but, in his dumb, hot as hell, breathy, _gravelly_ fucking sex-voice, he asks, “What did Patrick even do?”

You groan and roll your eyes harder than you ever have. “Can we not have this discussion while we're fucking?”

“C'mon, we've had weirder ones while in similar situations.”

“Got plastered, fucked another guy; not a whole lot going on other than that. They're—Jesus, give me some fucking warning when you move—they're having problems or some shit.”

“Sorry. Aren't they like—shit—soul-mates or something?” You have no idea how he's managing to keep his rhythm without getting distracted. Obviously he has more focus than you do. Well, you also have ADHD, so that _might_ affect things. Surprisingly, though, you're not doing half bad yourself.

“They've been together since they were—oh god—fifteen or something. Shit doesn't always work out, I guess.” He just nods and you thank the lord because he decides to finish the conversation when the two of you _aren't_ fucking.

Like, right afterward. He literally tosses his condom into the waste bin next to his bed, makes himself at home with his head on your chest, then asks, “I wonder why Patrick did that.”

You move his head away enough to make eye contact. “You're obsessed.”

“I haven't seen you in two weeks, dude, let me make conversation.”

“It's like,” you crane your neck to look at the alarm clock, “two thirty.”

“Humor me. I don't have any wild stories.”

“I don't know. Call me a stereotype all you want, but I read in some shitty gossip rag that a lot of people don't cheat because they don't _love_ their partner or whatever, but that it's like, because they're _bored_ or something, you know?”

“Hasn't Pete screwed around on him before?”

“A few times, I think. I don't know—Patrick was wanting to break up with him anyways. The gist of what he said was that they weren't really compatible anymore. Like, they love each other and all, but, you know what I mean.”

“Are they going to live together? I'd imagine it'd be awkward.”

“They might. From my understanding, and from what either of them have told me, they were best friends before they were together, so I don't know. They might be able to go back to that if they break up. I hope nothing like this happens to us. I'm emotional enough as it is.”

“I'll try my best not to break your heart. No guarantees, though.”

You pinch his shoulder, before laughing out a, “Shut up, Dallon.”

 

What is essentially your second mental breakdown _and_ your second fight with Dallon happens in the middle of October. It shouldn't have been that much of a shock, honestly. You'd just gotten back from your first trip overseas _alone,_ you were up to your fucking ass in homework (which isn't new), and Dallon was in a shitty mood, meaning he was griping about every little thing. Given that you were stressed out of your _fucking mind,_ well, that definitely didn't help matters.

Stress and exhaustion, stacked on top of the fact you've barely eaten for the past three months, makes for a very, _very_ grumpy Brendon. A very testy and irritable Brendon. You'd been on a fine line of not losing your fucking mind and, well, you know—losing your fucking mind.

Essentially, the two of you get into a shouting match, a few hurtful things are said, then something in you just _snaps_ and you break down crying. It's all overly dramatic, to be honest. It's the kind of thing you'd see in Days of our Lives or some other shitty soap. You fall back on your bed, and you can't breathe. Your hands are shaking, your vision is blurred not because you're fucking blind, but because you have tears clouding your vision, and you're just fucking _sobbing._

You're not some beautiful, hot little mess. You really, really aren't. You also aren't some soft, quiet, peaceful mess either. You're just a clumsy, _not_ graceful mess. To emphasize on this fact, you end up choking on your own spit during what you call your meltdown but what most professionals and even Dallon are calling a panic attack. The choking eventually leads you having to haul fucking ass to the nearest bathroom since you cough hard enough to make yourself gag.

It's not really a pretty experience. You throw up whatever you'd had in you, which wasn't much, then after your stomach acid is gone, you're dry heaving. You didn't hear him come into the bathroom, but you can feel a hand on your back. You're feeling guilty as fuck, for whatever reason, so you say, “This is—it's kind of my fault. I'm—you can go. If you want.”

“It's not your fault, Brendon. I was being a dick and I was taking it out on you, and that was like, super fucking shitty of me. If anything, it's my fault, and I'm sorry.”

You're not even trying to wipe your eyes anymore, if you're honest. You're also surprised you haven't ran out of tears yet. “It is though. I've been an asshole lately, and I could've had a better response rather than egging you on. God, I've been so fucking _useless_ lately. I can't even do any of my assignments without help, and every single fucking thing that even mildly upsets me makes me _cry._ I'm fucking _pathetic.”_ You slam your palms against your forehead, making a loud _slapping_ noise.

“You're not _useless._ You don't have to do everything on your own, and it's _fine_ to ask for _help._ And, for fuck's sake, you're not _pathetic.”_

“I'm never home, and I should be paying more attention to you, and _school,_ rather than going all over the fucking world and putting myself through hell for a career that could blow up in my face at any minute. I probably have a fucking eating disorder or something, and I've been treating _you_ like shit and taking you for granted and I'm fucking sorry.” Aaand you're crying even worse. Anything's possible, you guess.

“Maybe you should take a break, and, uh… get some help? If you want. Or need to. I don't—I'm bad at helping with shit like this. Also, look, if I felt like you were _neglecting_ me, I'd say something. Don't worry about it. I'm a big boy.” He stands up, and groans a little bit before helping you up. “Brush your teeth and let's just go to bed or something. Worry about your homework tomorrow.”

 

_“_ _You do know I love you more than anyone or anything, right?”_

“Would it be underwhelming if I just said 'ditto?'”

 _“Yes, Brendon, it would. I appreciate the gesture though. Now go to sleep, because I_ know _you're fuckin' exhausted.”_

 

“Brendon, wake up.”

 _Nope. Not dealing with this._ You roll over and pull a pillow over your head.

“Brendon, c'mon. I'll make you breakfast _and_ blow you in the shower if I need to.”

Food and a blow job? You're fucking in. You still grunt as you sit up, though. “What time is it?”

“Half past five.”

“Jesus Christ, Dallon. I only got four hours of sleep.”

“Too bad. Get up.” He tugs the blanket off of you, and, oh man, you've never given him a dirtier look.

You whine and give him a meek little kick to the thigh. “I'm _cold.”_

 _“Well,_ if you take a shower with me and let me cook you breakfast, then you won't be.” He crosses his arms and starts to slip into his serious 'I-mean-business' demeanor.

As soon as you're on your feet, you're clutching Dallon's shoulder for dear life, saying, “I feel like I'm hungover, but without the headache.” You're fucking sore and you can't balance for shit, plus you're vaguely nauseous. That's _basically_ a hangover.

 

You have your head resting on your arms as you watch him cook. He's cooking a _lot,_ so you figure he's going to eat with you. “How many eggs do you want?”

“Two, I think. Scrambled. Of course.”

You get a thumbs up. “You want any cheese on them?”

“Not really.”

“Alright then.” He's tossing glances your way over his shoulder, and, you say this a lot, but he just looks… _fond._ “Do you want coffee?”

“I drink coffee about as much as I breathe; it's a given.” He huffs at you. It takes another ten minutes or so before eggs and a coffee mug are placed in front of you. “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it,” He's replying as he sits down on the opposite side of the table with his own plate of food and coffee. “When's your first class?”

It takes you a minute to think. It's Friday, you believe, so— “Seven. Econ, I think.” You shrug and push eggs around on your plate. “I have English around ten then art history around noon. Art history is fun, but it's kind of boring.”

He nods. “You want a ride?”

“I'll need to be picked up around three, and you don't get off until five,” You mutter with yet another shrug. You shrug a lot. It's not really a surprise at this point. You push the eggs around a little more before actually taking a bite. You kind of feel like gagging. “It'd just be better if I drove myself.”

“I'll send a limo.”

You know he's kidding, you really do, but if he wanted to, he totally could. “Please don't. Everyone pesters me enough as it is. I don't need anymore attention.”

“Well, aren't you Mister Popular.” He sounds a little snide, but not in a bad way. You feel his foot come into contact with your shin, and you roll your eyes.

“Not really. Most of the people that bug me are sucking up to me or whatever. The money thing.” You wave your hand vaguely. “I dunno. I don't really talk to anyone. I just take notes and do what I need to do, I guess.” If you took a shot every time you shrugged, well, you'd die of alcohol poisoning pretty fucking quick.

“Well, you're boring. You should be going to shitty house parties and drinking way too much booze. Do you know how many house parties I went to?”

“None, because you were _totally_ a nerd.”

He scoffs and hits you in the shin again, a little harder than last time. “You don't even know what I looked like.”

“You act as if I haven't gone through your Facebook. You looked like a total nerd, dude.”

“Well, apparently not _that_ nerdy, because I must've broken world records with as many guys as I screwed around with. I was a sex _god._ ”

“Funny, considering I basically had to coach you through what to do the first time we fucked.” You lean back with your arms crossed, giving him a pointed look. “I was _twenty._ I'm the sex god here.”

He scoffs, again, but this time with a little bit of a screech mixed in. He's a weird guy. “I didn't hear you complaining.”

“I was horny and you had a big dick. _Why_ the _hell_ would I complain?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “'Had?'”

“Oh, shut _up,_ you know what I mean.”

He gets this dumb, smug, devious little look on his face, before saying, “I'm not sure if I _do_ know what you mean.”

“It's seven past six. It's too early for me to feed your ego.”

“It's never too early to feed my ego.”

You politely set your fork on your plate, next to your half eaten eggs. “Why do you so desperately want me to compliment your dick?”

“I have an inferiority complex.”

“Bull-fucking-shit. If anything, you have a _superiority_ complex.”

“Mhm. Whatever makes you sleep at night. Are you done eating?” He's standing up now, with an empty plate, pointing towards yours.

“Uh, yeah. I'm—I'm kind of full.” You scoot your chair back a bit and stand up as he takes your plate. “Hey, I'm going to go get dressed, but, uh, can I snag one of your sweaters?”

You turns around to quirk an eyebrow at you for the second time. “Any particular reason?”

“I'm cold as hell and…” You avoid eye contact, because, hey, your reasoning is pretty gay.

“And…?”

“I don't know, man. Your clothes are always warmer than mine, and like...” You make hand gestures, because, really, you don't think he's prepared.

He just gives you a patient, and you _think_ vaguely smug look.

“This is too gay.”

“I sucked you off about forty-five minutes ago. I think we've established that this is pretty gay.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Shut _up._ Look—just—they're _your_ shirts and sweaters and shit so they like… smell like you. You'd figure we'd smell the same given we've lived in the same house for a year and a half but we _don't_ and dude, can I just steal one of your sweaters? It's like really creepy, but it's kind of a comfort kind of thing, and, Jesus, I'm going to die of embarrassment.” You have your hands over your face at this point.

“God, I'm so fucking in love with you.”

If you thought your cheeks were as red as they could possibly be, well, you're wrong, because they just got about forty-nine shades of no copyright infringement intended darker. “Fuck off.” There's no substance to your remark, and he knows it.

You feel his arms around you, and it takes a few seconds for you to swallow your pride, or whatever the hell it took for you to remove your hands from your face to wrap your arms around his torso. “You can wear one of my sweaters, dude.”

You squeeze him _just_ a bit. “Thanks.”

 

You hate your economics professor. He's such a fucking cunt. His last name is Peck, which is cunty in and of itself, and to add to that, he's an ex-cop gone professor. Why he couldn't have taught something else that you'd never take, well, you don't know, but he's still your economics professor and you just absolutely despise the bastard.

You don't expect special treatment. You really, _really_ don't. You know what you _do_ expect, though? You expect to be treated the same as your peers, and you just want at least a little tiny _bit_ of respect. Of course, though, Professor _Peck_ doesn't offer that kind of treatment towards you.

Peck is kind of… a bully, if you will. You guess you could say that he… _pecks_ on you. You fucking hate yourself for that pun. You really, really do. Anyways, back to the point. You really have a tough time grasping economics, but it's a required class for the degree you're going for, and you're to the point that you'd rather have _Dallon_ be your professor than this asshole, because at least he's _nice._

You asked for help, _once,_ because you didn't understand something, and you were told, and you _quote,_ “What _isn't_ there to understand? Look, you might be 'rich' and 'famous,' but don't expect any special treatment from me. This isn't some easy-A class. You have to _try._ Pay attention next time.”

You didn't really know what to say to that. Fuck, you even started tearing up. All you'd said was, “Okay,” in that dumb, shaky, 'I'm about to cry' voice before hightailing it out of the room. You know, aren't teachers (or professors, in this case) supposed to, _you know,_ teach? That is _literally_ what they're hired for, yet they like to single students out. You get that you're privileged, and that you're fucking lucky to be where you are, but you don't like being treated like shit.

Today isn't a good day to be on Peck's shit list. You're still a little sensitive from last night, and you weren't really in the greatest of moods. You start feeling like you're in high school again, especially when you get picked on to answer a question that you obviously don't know the answer to. You don't try to answer it, in favor of not making a fool/an ass out of yourself. “I don't know,” is all you can manage to get out in some pitiful, weak little voice.

You know full-well that he heard you, but he still says, “Speak up,” in one of those typical, condescending teacher tones. You have ADHD, and you were one of _those_ kids growing up. You are far too aware of the _tone._

You put your head in your hands, and raise your voice a little bit to repeat yourself; “I said that I don't know.” Sometimes you think that it's because you're an openly _not_ straight guy going to a business school. (Everyone assumes you're gay, even though you're bisexual. You figure it isn't worth the hassle to correct anyone, though.) Maybe everyone thinks you're some silly, dumb little fag living off of his boyfriend's money. Fuck, if you wanted, you could move out on your own and still live _very_ comfortably.

 _“_ _Why?”_ Oh, yeah, here comes that 'I got you now, fucker' tone. It's the kind of tone you'd hear a parent take on the fucking _minute_ they caught you doing something wrong.

And, alright, yeah, you're having a _little_ trouble breathing now, but you speak as clear and as loud as you can without yelling or shouting. “I just don't understand it.”

“Can you try?”

You look up for a second, staring at the board. You reread what's on it probably a thousand times, but you still just _don't get it._ “I'm trying. I just—I don't know.”

Now he takes on that frustrated and pissed off tone as he roughly and _loudly_ places the pointer stick he had in his hand onto his desk. “Have you even been paying attention? Are you just here to listen to me talk?”

You can feel all eyes on you, and you can hear a few people whispering amongst themselves. “I have been paying attention. I just—I don't get it. It doesn't make sense to me. I'm here to _learn._ ” You want to slap yourself at the way the last sentence sounds like some sort of broken plea. When the hell did you become so… soft? At some point, you probably would've torn into this guy without a second thought. You haven't been this bad since you were seventeen, and even then, you had a decent 'excuse.'

You're trying, you really are, but you're drawing blanks. You end up with your head in your hands, again, staring at a spot on the desk, trying your best not to cry. He makes some snide remark that you don't catch before continuing on with the lesson. You start crying, but it's not loud or ugly. It's enough, though, for you to pack your shit and leave the classroom, only saying, “I'm going to my fucking home,” when _Peck_ asks where the hell you're going.

 

After sitting in one of the courtyards crying and trying to get your breathing under control for a good fifteen minutes, you call your _loving_ and _darling_ boyfriend who you regret letting talk you into him giving you a ride, and _not_ the fun kind, either. He takes an early break, and you buy him lunch in exchange for the ride home.

Once you have your bag nestled between your feet in his car, and after your seat belt is buckled, he asks if you're alright. “Not really. I'm still a little testy after last night, no offense, and my econ professor was in a mood I guess. He asked me to answer something, and when I said I didn't know the answer, he just started being a dick, and, apparently, I couldn't handle it, because, well, here we are.” You continue on to explain the situation in more detail.

“I don't know if you ever wanted an overprotective boyfriend, but, you have one now, because I swear to god, I'm going to kick your professor's ass.” He's frowning, and you know if he wasn't driving, he'd probably be hugging you or something similar to that right about now.

“Don't worry about it. I just have to pass this semester and I'll be done. I also have to pray that I don't get him for any other classes, but hey, small steps. You know, I can't even tell if it's the money thing or the gay thing. Why the _fuck_ does this guy have it out for me?”

“You're not gay, though,” he mutters as he turns a corner.

“Try telling anyone else that. Everyone equates being bisexual with being a slut, and if I were in a relationship with a girl, everyone would just figure I was suddenly straight, and people assume I'm gay and don't believe me when I tell them I'm not just because I'm in a relationship with a guy.”

“I'd like to think of myself as a man.”

“Shut up. Point is, unless I were to be slutting it up with guys _and_ girls, no one would believe me. It's just—it's easier for me to say I'm gay. There's so much fucking _stigma_ against bi people and it's _dumb.”_ You were worked up over your professor, but now you're worked up over how society perceives bisexuality. “I wish I could just be gay, or just be straight, but oh no, I have to like everyone.”

“You're not gay or straight and that's fine, dude.” He gives you a probably mostly sarcastic dreamy look. “I still love you.”

“Thanks. I love you too. I dunno, I guess I just—I feel invalid. You know, I've had a few people tell me that if I couldn't even commit to liking one gender, then never would I _ever_ be able to be in a relationship. Like, oh, sorry, does the fact that I like both _boys_ and _girls_ suddenly mean I don't have emotions? Jesus—gender is such a flimsy concept in the first place and most of it is just bullshit we've been force fed by society our whole lives. Why do I have to be limited to liking just _one?”_ If you weren't in Dallon's fancy, expensive, and _really_ unnecessary Cadillac, you'd probably kick the dashboard.

“People are stupid. I think this is one of the times that the age difference is obvious, because you have more of a grasp or an understanding on how shit like that works, you know? I wish I had something more to say, dude. I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. Sorry for asking you to leave work to listen to me rant about people being shitty.”

“I'd probably leave work just to get you a roll of toilet paper if you ran out.”

“You're too good to me,” is your dry response.

“Obviously.”

 

After having a relatively difficult year, or, well, at least a difficult past few months, you had hoped that you'd be able to spend Christmas with your boyfriend, but, alas, whatever higher power that might or might not exist just was not having it. Christmas? With Dallon? God forbid. That just absolutely cannot happen.

You end up leaving on the fifteenth of December for a job in Los Angeles, and he leaves on the seventeenth for a business trip in London. The job only takes a few days of your time, so once Tyler heads back to New York, you make your way to Las Vegas.

 

Your parents seem thrilled to have you home, and you figure you're still easing your way out of your rebellious 'I-hate-my-parents' phase since you feel like they're being fake as hell. Your mother greets you with a bone crushing hug the second you walk through the door, and your father gives you his traditional, supportive, paternal pat on the back another ten feet into their house.

Maybe they seem thrilled, though, since you haven't spent Christmas with them in, oh, what… five years? Twenty-two minus seventeen… Yep, that's five. It's been five years.

 

Your mother takes you out to breakfast on the twentieth. It's a nice meal, if you're honest.

For whatever reason, though, whenever you speak to her, she always asks, “How are things going with Dallon?”

Why does she ask? Who knows. Maybe she's praying and hoping the two of you break up. (As long as you have a say in it, well, that will _not_ happen.) “They're fine. Still a little tough with the traveling thing.” You shrug.

“I'd imagine that'd be difficult. _So,”_ a mischievous and, quite frankly, _scary_ look comes across her face, “Are you going to marry him?”

You actually snort your fucking drink through your nose. “I don't—I have no clue. We haven't been together that long. Anyways, I'm too young.” Your face is about the shade of a fire hydrant. Like, the red ones. Not the ugly yellow ones. If you were the shade of a yellow fire hydrant, you would be at an emergency room seeking treatment for severe jaundice.

Your mother nods her head a bit. “True. Are you okay?”

“I guess—why?”

“You're awfully skinny.”

 _Oh, good fucking god. I_ know _I'm skinny. Everyone tells me. I can't do anything about it. I try and I try to gain weight, but I can't. She was up my ass the last time we saw each other about this as well._ “I'm fine. Haven't had much of an appetite I guess.”

“Hm.” She shrugs, and you know she doesn't believe you. Oh well.

 

On the twenty-second, you get the shit scared out of you. Well, not scared, but you get just a bit shocked. The door bell rings around nine, and considering you were on the couch, in a tank top and a pair of boxers, you weren't too keen on answering it. _Of course,_ your mother has different ideas. “Brendon, get the door, would you?” Comes her suspiciously cheerful and chipper voice from the kitchen.

“I'm in my underwear,” you shout back.

“ _Brendon.”_

You groan, obnoxiously, and sigh heavily before hauling yourself over to the front door. You open the door, prepared to tell a Jehova's witness to fuck off, but unprepared for Dallon to be standing there with a suitcase and a dumb grin on his face. “What the _fuck_ are you doing?” You're mirroring his grin, and pulling him into a tight embrace.

“I managed to finish the business I had to do in London, so I decided to catch a flight.” He pats you on the back, and you hear your mother say something about getting a picture before you can feel him forcing you to stay in place, and ignoring your attempts to get away before your mother can actually take a picture.

“You're an asshole,” you're saying as your mother takes a picture while making a comment about how _cute_ the two of you are. At least she's being accepting, which is more than what you can say for your father. He hasn't been too much of an asshole, but you've caught the dirty looks he throws your way whenever you mention Dallon, or you mention any sort of attraction/interest towards men. It's disheartening, to say the least. A lot of things in your life are disheartening.

“Let your mother capture the moment,” He mutters with a quick kiss to your cheek.

 

On the twenty third, you're at a shopping mall, getting some last minute presents for your parents and your boyfriend, when you have a panic attack. Okay, you didn't break down crying out of nowhere, but you started feeling one coming on after someone knocked into you and gave you a dirty look. It's slightly reminiscent of January, 2013, after the _incident._ Technically, it's a hate crime, you think, but you weren't critically injured, so you don't consider it one.

It gets worse when you get stopped by a group of girls who want a picture with you. You're a nervous wreck, totally not used to being stopped by people. It's happened a few times, but it _always_ catches you off guard. You look fucking terrible in the picture, and you _know_ it's getting posted on Twitter, which just increases your stress level. _Everyone_ is going to see how gross you look, and, Jesus, alright, you probably shouldn't be getting worked up over it.

You're your biggest critic, right? Maybe people won't notice. They haven't seen your face before, so at first glance, maybe they'll think you look good. You think this a few times before calling yourself out on your bullshit, because, hey, it's fucking bullshit. Or so you think.

You only manage to get a couple of shirts and some jewelery for your mother before you start feeling tears prickling at the corner of your eyes and your throat closing up. You end up sitting in the car you're renting with your head pressed against the top of the steering wheel, trying to steady your breathing. Of course, though, your attempts are in vain, and you end up just full on sobbing, shaking, and trying not to vomit.

You're fucking tired of this. Why are you always so _stressed?_ Why can't you go back to being your good ol' confident self, smart comments and mildly snide remarks from every corner, flirty and unashamed of yourself, and secure in your looks. Now you're a sexually ambiguous and an androgynous (looking, not identifying) nervous fucking wreck. Your life is fucking _wonderful._ Sarcasm intended.

Sure, you're incredibly lucky to have been blessed with fame and some vague sense of fortune (on your own, excluding Dallon), especially given your age, but does that mean your problems are suddenly invalid? You seem to think so. You have _everything_ going for you, yet you just feel terrible. You shouldn't feel terrible. You really shouldn't. You're just a _cry baby._ A spoiled white kid.

 

The second Dallon sees you he _somehow_ knows that something is wrong. “Are you alright?”

You shrug and take your shopping bags up to your old bedroom, and mentally cursing as he follows you. You're in for some questioning, which you're totally not in the mood for. Before he gets a chance to hound you, you explain the situation. “Someone knocked into me, and, uh, it kind of bugged me I guess, then a few girls wanted a picture. I don't know, I just freaked out.”

“Ah.” You get a slightly awkward grin out of him, and you give him a bitter and mildly cynical grin in response. He flops down on his stomach on the bed, with his chin in his hands, giving you a mischievous look. “What did you get me?”

You raise your eyebrows. “You'll find out in a few days. What did _you_ get _me?_ ”

He mimics you. “You'll find out in a few days.”

“Smart-ass. Shouldn't you be sleeping? Y'know, jet-lag and all.”

“Probably. I need to fix my sleep schedule though.” He rolls over and reaches for you before continuing. “I want to spend time with you, and I can't do that if I'm sleeping all day.”

“You are so _sappy.”_ You take his hands and lean down to give him an awkward kiss. “I'd throw up if I didn't love it.”

He grins and kisses you again before telling you that he loves you. A lot. You like this moment. It's sweet. You haven't had a lot of moments like this with him in quite a bit. You wish either of you weren't so busy, and that things would slow down for a little bit.

He ends up leaned against the headboard, with you in his lap. You end up having another moment where you realize you need to put on some weight. It's not a major moment, and it doesn't really distract you, mostly since it was just a fleeting thought. You feel so small in comparison to him. Body wise, he hasn't changed a whole lot since you met him, aside from putting on a little bit of weight. Not a lot, though. Like, maybe fifteen or twenty pounds. At best. The dude is six-foot-four; fifteen/twenty pounds is essentially nothing for him.

The only downside of that is that he's way more self conscious about not having a shirt on, or only wearing underwear around you. He doesn't show it, but considering you're probably one of the most self conscious people alive right now, you can pick up on it about as quick as Sonic the motherfucking Hedgehog.

You really don't care. You still think he's fucking gorgeous, and you're still in love with him. You're a little more affectionate, like, with your hands, because of that, and honestly if he doesn't pick up on it, then he has to be blind. You're one for having hands running up and down his sides, or splayed across his stomach on the rare occasions he doesn't have a shirt on around you.

At the moment you have your hands under his t-shirt, and you're not really sure what you're trying to do, given you're not angling for sex or foreplay right now. (Not yet, at least.) He has his hands planted firmly on your thighs, but he's not moving them, or coming onto you. (For the most part. You're in his lap and you're making out with him.)

Just when you're about to the point of trying to coerce him into taking his shirt off, your phone rings, and the two of you make a small bet on who it is. He says it's either your parents or Pete, and you're placing your bets on Tyler.

For once in your life, you win the bet. Tyler calls to ask about whether or not you're going to renew the contract which is responsible for him working for you/you being a client, and you just mentally curse him for ruining a moment. Or, well, for sort of ruining it. He honestly just has bad timing.

“It was Tyler.”

“Well, shit.”

You huff, and take a moment to look at his face. His pupils are dilated a bit more than they should be, his cheeks are flushed, his lips are red and you're about to go in for another kiss, but he (accidentally) cuts you off by asking, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sorry, you just look, like, really nice right now.”

“Stop. You're gonna make me blush.”

“You already are.”

 

Two hours later finds the two of you on your parents' couch, watching Christmas movies and kind of just enjoying each others' company. “Hey, I haven't told you yet, but, uh, you want to know how much money I've made this year?” He looks a little excited to tell you. You know that the year has been kind of just… _really_ good for him, but you don't know specific details. Even despite taking a collective four months off, he managed.

“Hit me. Figuratively.”

“Fifty one.”

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers. “ _Million?_ ”

He nods. “This year has been fucking _amazing._ Shit, I could retire if I wanted to, but I'm greedy.”

You laugh out of shock. “Jesus, dude. What the fuck are you even going to _do_ with the money?”

He shrugs. “No clue. Buy a new house, maybe. I could invest in my own company, you know, work on expanding it.”

“Aren't you a stock broker? How—how do you like, _you know,_ expand a company like that?”

“Just like you expand any other company. _Maybe_ I could buy a fuckin' high rise.”

“Oh, good god, dude. Is that _really_ how you want to spend your money? I'd imagine it'd be steep, especially for New York.”

“Hell yeah. Offices on every floor, and if for whatever reason next year is even better than this year, it'd generate _so_ much profit.”

“You're awfully ambitious.”

“Of course I am. I have to do _something_ with my time. So, anyways, on the topic of Christmas, did you get anyone any interesting presents?” He turns to face you more, sitting cross legged.

“I paid off the mortgage on, uh, my parents' house, _with my own money_. I haven't told them yet, but I _hope_ they appreciate it. I splurged and spent a little bit of money on a necklace for my mom, and an obscene amount of money on liquor, mostly as a joke, for my father. I killed the last of his vodka the last time I was here, and I forgot to replace it, so, you know, I might as well. I haven't done this yet, but I plan to pay Pete's rent for the next year. I know he can't afford it, and I _know_ he won't swallow his pride and ask for help, so I might as well. Last but not least, I sent Tyler a corny card and a few extra thousand dollars as a thank-you for being a great manager, despite being a dick.” You end your rant by avoiding eye contact and muttering an apology for it.

“You're fine, and super generous.”

“Is that—that isn't bad, right?”

“Hell no. It's like, super admirable that you'd do stuff like that for your friends and your parents.”

“How about you? Did you get anyone anything?”

“Aside from the few things I got you, I didn't really get anyone anything. I don't really have any friends, and, added, my parents are dead, so I didn't really have anyone else to get anything for.”

_Shit. I forgot about his parents. How could I forget that? I'm literally the worst boyfriend ever._

 

The next day, you get your monthly dose of homophobia from some snot nosed fifteen year old boy and his pathetic posse. It isn't anything particularly shocking, if you're honest. You'd just been having a Hallmark moment with Dallon, and the second he'd pressed a kiss to your lips, you hear a shout of, “Faggot!”

 _Huh. It's been a while since I've heard that one._ Dallon turns around and you see him slip into his strict and cold business demeanor as he replies, “Watch your tongue, kid.”

 

On Christmas, your mother ends up hugging you, tightly, for a good five minutes or so, trying not to cry a whole lot at the fact that you'd paid their mortgage off. You just give her a few sympathetic pats on the back, saying not to worry about it. They're your parents, and despite past… spats, you still love them and want to make sure they're alright.

Your dad rolls his eyes at the liquor, but thanks you, and tells you to never drink the rest of his liquor ever again. (“I'm not making any promises.”)

 

Dallon gives you an envelope, and you all but faint when you open it to find a check for, and you are _not_ kidding nor are you exaggerating, a _million_ dollars. “I can't accept this.”

He crosses his arms and gives you a pointed look. “Do you want to see my pay stubs? It's not that much. Take the check. It's a gift.”

Honestly, you're speechless. You pull him into a hug, like, a really fucking tight hug. “Yet you call _me_ the generous one.” You've never even asked him for a _cent,_ then he goes and pulls this shit. Who the fuck does he think he is? God? He probably _is_ God. He's pretty enough to be a higher power.

 

 **Tyler:** thanks for the card and the money

 **Brendon:** dont sweat it

 

Pete looks like shit when you go over to his apartment around the eighth. The bags under his eyes are about as bad as yours, and he looks a little underweight. When you step into his apartment, you look around. It's… a mess, to say the least. It's not gross or anything, but it's cluttered. “Sorry about the mess. I've been working a lot and I haven't really had the time to clean,” comes his excuse as he trots to his bedroom to get his Christmas gift for you.

“It's just a few t-shirts, nothing too exciting,” he's saying when he tosses it to you.

“Dude, it's fine. I appreciate the gesture.”

You sit in the arm chair, smoking your yuletide joint, and chatting with the older man. “I'm late on my fucking rent, plus a few bills, and I might get kicked out. The past year has been so fucking _shitty.”_

“Uh, actually, your rent—that's kind of why I'm here.”

He furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

You reach into your coat pocket and hand him an envelope. “It's—it's my Christmas gift for ya. I haven't really been able to give you gifts before, so take it, and don't tell you can't accept it.”

He opens the envelope _very_ carefully, and his jaw just fucking _drops_ the second he sees it. “Thirty _grand_?”

“It's enough to cover your rent for the next year. I _know_ you enough to know you're not going to swallow your pride and accept help, so, yeah. I don't know.” You shrug, and avoid eye contact.

“I honestly don't know how to thank you.”

“Pete, it's fine. A simple 'thank you' will do. I don't want anything in return. Anyways, how have you been doing? Like, aside from shitty.”

“I dunno. I uh, I think I met someone.”

“ _Oh really?”_

“Yeah.” A small, fond little smile comes across his face, and it takes everything in you not to outwardly 'aww' at him.

“Tell me about him.”

“He's… he's something. I miss Patrick and all, but I need to move on from him. I'm praying this guy isn't just a rebound, because like, I really _feel_ something with him. He's gorgeous, he's charming, he's _nice,_ and he's so easy to talk to. The only problem is that he lives in New Jersey.”

“How did you meet him?”

“At a bar. He was visiting his brother for Christmas, and we talked for a while. We hung out a few times, and we just kind of _clicked,_ you know? We've been texting off and on for the past week or so. If, uh, if he comes to New York again you should meet him. He's nice. Super nice.”

You grin. “That's fucking awesome, man. I'd offer to let you meet Dallon in exchange, but, well, you've met him.”

He rolls his eyes. “Please, seventy percent of the time I see you he's with ya. How are the two of you doing?”

“We're doing alright. Kind of been fucking our brains out for the past few weeks since we haven't been able to see each other, and since I'm leaving again in a week. We spent Christmas with my parents, and they're coming around. My mother likes him, and although my father is still being a bit of a dick towards him, he's lightened up on it. I can be affectionate with him without them giving us dirty looks, so that's something, you know?”

He nods. “It's better than they were when you moved here.”

You groan. “God, yeah, that's definitely true. Fuck, I remember how scared I was to move out here.”

“You pretty much pissed yourself when we picked you up from the airport.”

“Fuck off, I did not. Y'know, I was surprised at how short you were. Well, are.”

He scoffs. “Just because I'm 5'4” doesn't mean I won't kick your fuckin' ass.”

“You probably could kick my ass. I'm a very weak person.”

He rolls his eyes a bit. “You need to put some meat on your bones.”

“Yes, Pete, I'm aware. It's not as if every person in my life has been telling me that.” You sigh, heavily, and give him a bored look.

 

Paris. You really like Paris. You've been here quite a fuckin' bit over the past few years, and you've grown to like it a lot. This trip is a little different, though. It's more… stressful. Okay, okay, you find everything stressful, but this time it actually _is_ stressful. You're walking in the biggest fashion show of your career, and you are so fucking nervous.

For once in his life, Tyler is actually being somewhat supportive and _tries_ to give you his vote of confidence. Well, at least as best as he can. “Look, you can do this. Just try to get through it, because it's going to be fucking _life changing._ If you thought you were popular enough already, well, you have no idea what's about to happen to you.”

You'd just grumbled a bit, but you went along with it of course. Honestly, you do fucking amazing during the show. Tyler sits in the front row, watching you with a critical eye, and nodding slightly every time you make eye contact with him.

 

The next big landmark in your career comes in March when someone who does casting or whatever reaches out to Tyler, requesting an audition from you for a small role. It's in some wildly popular block buster film, and you're pretty much forced to take the audition.

It's… it's fun. Like, really fucking fun. Your confidence still isn't what it used to be, _but,_ you still have fun dicking around in front of a few directors. You know high school drama probably isn't something to be wildly proud of for taking it for four years, but you had an idea of what you were doing, which meant that it took less than a few weeks to hear back from anyone.

One of the cons, though, is that you end up having to rent a condo in Vancouver for a few months while everything is going on, _meaning_ you're away from every single person you knew. Tyler offered to stay with you, but you shooed him off, saying he needed to spend time with his fiance.

You make a few friends on the trip, and a few useful connections as well with a few directors and actors. Using people for your own personal gain isn't really your thing, but, hey, you'll take what you can get when it comes to your career.

 

Why does shit always go down between May and June?

In hindsight, you probably shouldn't have done what you did, but you're entitled to a sex life. It's not _illegal_ for you to take _risque_ pictures (by risque, you mean pretty graphic) for your boyfriend, _especially_ given with how much you travel. It's not a crime, and you really shouldn't be getting shit for it.

Someone, you don't know how, or who, but you have a few people working to figure it out, managed to hack your iCloud, and leaked every single fucking picture you have _ever_ taken of yourself. Why? Who knows. You're placing your bets on it being some homophobe, though.

What's worse, though, is that you're not the only one who's affected by it. _Dallon_ is too. You had a folder with pictures of him doing ungodly things in compromising positions, and of fucking course those got posted as well.

You'd gotten a call at, like, four in the fucking morning from Tyler. _“Uh, hey, promise me you won't freak out.”_

“What's going on?” You sit up a little, and shush Dallon, telling him to go back to sleep when _he_ asks what's happening.

 _“_ _Someone managed to get into your iCloud account and, essentially, your_ nudes _or whatever the hell you want to call them_ _were leaked, along with quite a few pictures of your_ _boyfriend_ _.”_

You have to take a few minutes to process it before saying, “Pardon?”

_“_ _You heard me. I'm not repeating myself.”_

All you can really do is just… sit there, staring at nothing since it's pitch black in the bedroom, trying to process what's going on. “You're not joking, are you?”

 _“_ _No, I'm not. I'm all for pranks and all, but this isn't something I'd joke about. You're probably going to start getting calls and texts from people here pretty soon, so beware I guess. I'm coming over in a few hours with a_ friend _to sort this out._ _You should have a chat with your_ _boyfriend_ _about this.”_

He hangs up after that, and honestly, you're too shocked to have any sort of reaction other than laying on your back and staring at the ceiling. As you explain what's happening to Dallon, your voice raises a few octaves, and you start feeling the same way you did when your parents found out you weren't straight. You feel as if your heart has stopped, and you wouldn't be surprised if you were paralyzed.

“Obviously this isn't fine, but we'll get through it. I really need some more sleep, but we can talk with Tyler and try to figure something out when he pops up later, alright?”

You just roll over and nod into his chest.

 

Your mentions on Twitter are atrocious. Either it's a girl, or a guy, dropping some lewd and vulgar comment towards you, or it's someone making a snide, homophobic remark. Pete ends up coming over, since, of course, he caught the shit storm almost as soon as it happened. He made a comment about Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton, which caused you to laugh. It didn't help _that_ much, but you appreciated his demented sense of comfort.

Tyler's on the phone most of the day, keeping his voice steady and just trying to get shit done. You appreciate it. Although he acts like a dick, he really does go out of his way for you, and like you said, you're appreciative. It means a lot that someone would do that for you.

Dallon's lawyer ends up coming over, and he talks to her for a few hours, hashing out a plan and whatnot. The police, sadly, end up getting involved. Tyler and Dallon both inform you that what the person did was illegal, which you knew, and that, honestly, a lawsuit would probably end up happening. You weren't really interested in a lawsuit, but rather more focused on getting the images removed from the internet. You know that, with shit like this, the pictures will _always_ keep popping up, but, hey, you'll do what you can.

You can't really do much, so you end up on the couch with Pete, totally not smoking weed, and totally not denying it when Tyler gives you a bored look. (“Brendon, I know what weed smells like. Believe it or not, Josh is a stoner.”) (“Wait, seriously?”) (“Yes.”)

You, and Dallon, get another, even _more_ bored look from Tyler when Dallon walks into the living room and motions for you to pass him the joint. Pete tries his best not to laugh, and you just say, “Couples who smoke together stay together,” which earns you a foot in the shin from Dallon.

 

The whole nude scandal makes national news. At first, you panic. Like, really fucking bad. Your parents see the whole shit storm, which makes it so much fucking worse. You can't even bring yourself to show your face in public. Dallon manages, of course, as he usually does. You envy his aloofness, and how he seems not to give a shit.

You end up calling Tyler, crying, _panicking,_ and trying to explain how the scandal made national news and how fucking _upset_ you are. This whole ordeal was a shock to the system, and you're not sure how to deal with it. He does end up dropping everything and coming over, though.

 

The conversation about what to do happens with him sitting in one of the arm chairs in the living, and with you tucked into yourself on the end of the sofa, nibbling on a small bag of potato chips. “Give a statement. Post about it and acknowledge it. Try not to give a shit, alright?”

“I'm not like _you._ I give a shit about _everything.”_

And at _that_ he just fucking laughs. “Jesus, I give a shit about every single thing in the world. I'm an emotional dude, believe it or not. Have I ever showed you—oh god— _promise_ me you won't breathe a word about this to anyone else.”

“My lips are sealed.” You sniff.

“Okay, when I was seventeen, I was like—I tried getting into music. Obviously nothing took off, and the band I started crashed and burned, but like—I had an _EP_ and an _album_ with the band I mentioned. You should hear the lyrics in that shit. They're emo as hell.”

“Everyone I know is into _music,_ or _was._ Jesus. _”_

“Anyways, look, point is, I'm not actually an emotionless prick. You shouldn't let this stuff get to you, though. Shit happens.”

You grumble.

“Have you been on Twitter lately?”

“Not really. Kind of been avoiding social media.”

“How many followers do you remember having before all of this?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand? Maybe.”

He bites his cheek as he hands you his phone, with your Twitter profile pulled up. “Look. It's more than _tripled_ since all of this. This—all of this—try to think of it as publicity. Like, really good publicity.”

 

Your statement seems a little too formal and official given how you usually talk when it comes to Twitter, but, in your opinion, it's a good one. You point out that queer people have sex lives, and that you have a right to participate in _nude sharing_ with your boyfriend.

Someone asks why you didn't just say gay people, and you respond with:

 

_**bread @brendonurie – 12:46PM** _

**@typicalusername** I'm not gay, that's why. Surprisingly, bisexuality exists.

 

Of course, for the bisexual comment, you get about a thousand more comments with people trying to invalidate you. Essentially, you just say that some rando on the internet will _not_ define your sexuality, and that, whether they like it or not, you're bisexual and _nothing_ is going to change that. You've gone through hell just for being bi, and you talk a little bit about how you got kicked out at eighteen for _being_ bi in the first place, so, given _that,_ you really aren't keen on saying you're something you're not just for someone else's comfort.

You call a few people out on biphobia, which exists, by the way, and for whatever fuckin' reason, Tumblr just absolutely _loves_ it. You don't, though. Too many people are praising you and idolizing you, and, honestly, you _kind of_ don't appreciate it. You hate when people idolize celebrities. They're people, you know? They aren't any different from anyone else. (By the way, you _still_ don't consider yourself a celebrity. It's ridiculous, honestly.)

 

You get featured in the one shitty rag that'd basically harassed Dallon a few years ago again. This time, the article is centered on _you_ and not Dallon. You get interviewed briefly by someone, then a month later, Tyler's barging into the house, magazine in hand, and looking fucking _manic._ You have never seen him this excited.

“According to the magazine,” he starts as he plops down on the couch, “You're an _inspiration,_ and a _sensation.”_ He recites the article to you, and by the time he's finished, you're mirroring the grin, because it's a fucking _awesome_ article.

You snatch the magazine from him to read it yourself, and, yep, it's real. It's definitely _real._ “This is so fucking awesome. This is like—this is the kind of shit I dreamed about doing when I was a kid. Or, well, the shit I dreamed about _happening._ This is kind of surreal.”

Tyler starts going on some rant about your career, and you're listening pretty intently, but, apparently, he gets a _little_ too excited, or, you assume so, given he slips into a different language that isn't English, French, Italian, or Japanese. It takes him a few minutes before he realizes what he's done.

“What the fuck was that?”

“...Arabic.”

 _“_ _Arabic?_ How many fucking languages do you know?”

“Five. I promise you that's it. I uh, I lived in Lebanon until I was seven, with my parents, of course, because, uh, stuff was happening with my grandparents. My dad is Lebanese, and he taught me Arabic along with English.”

“That's actually pretty fuckin' cool.”

He shrugs, suddenly bashful. “I mean, I guess.”

“Dude, you're fluent in five languages. It's _cool._ I barely grasp the basics of French, yet you're here, mister five languages.”

“I mean, I grew up knowing English, Arabic, and French. Italian wasn't hard to pick up, and Josh was most of the reason I learned Japanese.”

“It's fuckin' dope, dude.”

“Shut up.”

 

More shit goes down in the beginning of August. Why is it that every single fucking person you know likes to call you at four to six in the morning, crying about whatever the hell is going on in their life? This time, it's your _mother,_ and you curse, because either someone died, or she's like, super drunk.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Mom. What's wrong?” You pull your usual routine of shushing Dallon and telling him to go back to bed as you get up and head to the kitchen.

_“_ _Your father left me.”_

You're about half way through the living room as she says that. “What a fucking lame ass shit. _Why?”_

The line is silent for a few moments. _“Basically he's a lame ass shit. After the situation with the photos, we got into it, and we both know he hasn't been the most accepting of you and Dallon, but this was the last straw for him. He was just… pissed off at me for defending you.”_

“I hate to pull this card, but I'm his fucking child,” you mutter as you finish making your way to the kitchen.

You pour yourself a glass of orange juice as you listen to your mother. _“I'm sorry about this. I just—I needed someone to talk to. I know you don't like me.”_

“Whoa, alright, you're a little presumptuous. I don't hate you. You're my _mother_. We're family, and like, we're supposed to be here for each other or whatever.” You talk to your mother for another ten minutes or so, and once you're sure she's alright or whatever, you tell her to go to bed, and so you can start getting dressed and ready for your hopefully alright day at college.

You hear footsteps, and you're saying, “Dude, go back to sleep, it's like, five in the morning,” as you whip around to face Dallon.

He just grunts and walks past you to get a pot of coffee started. “Is everything alright?”

“My dad left my mom. Basically, he's a lame ass shit, and homophobia is a bitch.”

He nods slightly. “Sorry, I guess.”

“It's fine. I don't—I haven't really had time to process it, considering it's been, like, two minutes.”

He hums under his breath. You chat with him a bit while he works on waking himself up before _you_ end up backed against the counter, with lips on yours, moving almost expertly, hands wherever they can reach on your body, and a leg slotted between your own legs. You try your best not to pretty much dry hump his leg, but you do settle for subtly moving your hips just the _slightest_ bit.

“Why don't you,” _kiss,_ “come to work with me,” _kiss,_ “so we can act out some kinky office fantasies.”

 _Scoff._ “I have a degree to work on, and I'm not having sex with you in your office. I have seen your office, and it isn't a place I'd like to do anything in.”

He groans slightly, and kisses you again; “You're no fun.”

“You're right. I'm practical.”

 

It's your first day back, and you feel like you're in fucking high school again. Unsurprisingly, the news of the nudes incident had spread throughout the college, meaning unsolicited comments from people you don't know and shitty presumptions about your life. Your professors are filled with dirty looks and condescending tones, not to mention _students._

Good god, the students are even worse. Invasive questions are another thing that'd been thrown your way. By the time you're home, you're exhausted and a little pissed off. For the first time in a while, Dallon had beaten you home, and when you walk in, he's cooking. You slip your jacket off and slowly make your way to the kitchen. “What're you making?”

He looks up at you, a little surprised, and you figure he hadn't heard you walk in. “Spaghetti. There's uh—there's more than enough for both of us. We'll probably have a decent amount of leftovers.”

“Awesome. I haven't had spaghetti in so long. When is it gonna be done?” You ask the last part as you hoist yourself up to sit on the counter.

“Here in about five minutes. I already have the sauce done, meat and all, and I'm just waiting on the noodles. Why do noodles have to take ten fucking years to cook?” He sighs, loudly, and groans at the pot on the stove he's been stirring. “How was your day?”

“Annoying as shit. Too many questions from people about the photos incident. I just wanted to do algebra and English work, not talk about pictures of my dick on the internet.” You roll your eyes. “How about you? How was work?”

“Had a shitty day. Spilled my coffee all over myself, then had a business meeting with a bunch of uptight old men. No one would fucking listen to me, and that pissed me off, not to mention _frustrated_ me. Then, after that, I had a shit ton of paper work to do. Do you know how much I wanted to kill the intern when she walked in with a stack of papers?”

You let out a quick huff of breath. “Jeez. Sounds too busy. I have a bunch of homework to get done already. I'm going to start working on it after I eat.”

“What all do you have to do?”

“Algebra, English, biology, and government. I might need help with government, by the way. You don't have to, but I'd appreciate it.”

“Don't sweat it. I am _glad_ to help.” While the noodles are in the strainer, he walks over to stand in front of you to cop a few kisses, and, honestly, this is all so fucking domestic that you want to _gag._

 

It's kind of nice not traveling. You're taking a break from working for a good six months or so, mostly to focus on both your mental and physical health, not to mention _school._ You also don't mind getting to spend time with your boyfriend or your very few friends. (Mostly you just go to Pete's apartment and bullshit with him while getting stoned.)

You get to meet the guy Pete told you about during the second week of August. You _know_ the look Pete gets when he looks at the guy, because it's how you look at Dallon. It's corny, of course, but it's true. The two of them, in your opinion, fit better than Patrick and Pete ever did.

You figure them not living together/in the same state contributes to it. If you're honest, if you hadn't been traveling all over the damn world for the past two years, you and your darling boyfriend would probably be history. Constantly being in close proximity with someone in the beginning of a relationship, at least in your opinion, is totally a bad thing. It's one of the best ways to ruin a relationship.

After Pete's new beau leaves, he tells you about some drama. “Patrick apparently has a new boyfriend.”

“Seriously? I haven't talked to him in months.”

“Yeah. I haven't met the guy, but from the way Patrick talks about him, he seems like a nice guy.” He shrugs, and looks a bit sad. “I'm still not over him.”

“You were with him for like, ten years, dude. I'd be surprised if you _were_ over him.”

He shrugs again. “I guess. I mean, I've like, come to terms with the break up, but you know.”

You nod. “I get it.”

“You know, I was gonna ask him to marry me.”

You snort. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I bought a ring and everything, too.”

“Oh, jeez. Don't you breathe a fucking word about this on the internet or to my parents, but uh,” you spiritually cringe at the dumb little grin that comes across your face as you say, “I think Dallon _might_ be getting ready to _pop the question._ ”

His eyes are wide and his mouth is wide open for a few moments before he's grinning maniacally. “Seriously? Why didn't you fuckin' tell me?”

“I haven't had a chance, dude.”

“What are you going to _say?_ _”_

“What do you think? It's not like he's the love of my life or anything.”

“How do you even know?”

“I found rings. I was looking for my weed stash since _someone_ didn't put it back where he got it, and I saw them. It took _everything_ in me not to say something.”

“That's fucking adorable.”

“Hell yeah it is.”

 

 _Knock knock knock._ Your eyes blink open. You know Dallon's awake due to the way he's breathing, but you know it's useless to tell _him_ to go get the door. You quietly call him an asshole as you get up to answer it. You grab a robe on the way out, and you're pretty sure it isn't yours, but you're tired, so who gives a shit, right?

You open the door, and you have about a second to wonder how the hell a solicitor got past the gates, before being met with some spiel about homosexuality tainting the sanctity of marriage. It's been legal for _months._ Why is it that _now_ is the time some homophobe knocks on the door, asking for signatures on a petition? It's _New York._ There's queers around every corner.

Dryly, you say, “Isn't that the god's honest truth?” And _then_ the lady asks if you're married, so in an even dryer tone, you say, “Not yet. We're just together.” _Yeah, together with a man_ _._

“Well, isn't that _wonderful._ I would just love to speak with both you _and_ your _girlfriend_. Is she home?”

You're a little shit by nature, so you respond with, “Yes. Give me a moment.”

Honestly, you've never been up the stairs that fast while living there. “Dude, get up. There's some lady trying to get a signature on some petition against gay marriage or whatever.”

 _Groan._ “Tell her to fuck off, then.” He rolls over and gives you a groggy glare.

“No, listen, she said she wanted to speak with _both_ of us. Dallon, this is a chance for us to be assholes.”

As he gets up, he informs you that you're a bad influence.

It takes everything in you to keep a straight face, no pun intended, at the look of mortification that comes across the lady's face the second she sees Dallon. “Uh, this is my _boyfriend_. _Obviously,_ this issue is _very_ important to us.”

She grumbles out something before stomping off of the property, and, oh man, do you have quite a fuckin' laugh once the door is closed.

 

You're barely out of the shower that day when Patrick, surprisingly, calls you. You haven't talked to him in, what, a year? It's been a long fucking time, so, of course, you're shocked. “Hello?”

_“_ _You need to go check on Pete.”_

“Why?” You wedge the phone between your shoulder and your face as you walk over to the closet to find a shirt and a pair of sweat pants.

 _“_ _He sent me a text message, and I_ know _how he talks when he's having an episode or whatever. I'm in Los Angeles and I can't exactly just fly back to New York out of nowhere. Just, look,_ please _do this.”_

“What do you mean by 'episode?'” You're frowning, but making your way down the stairs to get a pair of shoes and your keys nonetheless.

 _“_ _You_ know _what I mean. You lived with us for four months and you've known him for, like, eight years. See if he's alright.”_

“Alright, alright. I already have my keys. Do you want me to text you or anything when I'm there?”

_“_ _Please. I'd appreciate it. Sorry—I'm just fucking worried.”_

The call ends shortly after.

 

The closer you got to his apartment, the bigger the sinking feeling in your gut got. You were praying he was just super stoned or drunk, or both, but _somehow,_ you knew it had to be worse than that. You knock on the door, and ring the bell a few times, but you get no answer, so you feel around on top of the door frame for the extra key.

You gently close the door behind you once you're inside, and you start working your way through the apartment. You know he has to be here, since his car is in the parking lot. He's not in the living room, or the kitchen, and you get through the bedrooms before you find him in the bathroom.

It's like a scene out of a fucking ABC movie. He's on the floor, _not_ moving, and barely breathing. You try shaking him awake, but it doesn't work. Before calling 911, you look around the bathroom, before seeing an empty Xanax bottle and a half empty bottle of vodka. _Well, that explains it._

 

You grab Pete's phone as you exit the apartment to follow the ambulance to the hospital. You scroll through his emergency contacts, trying to decide who would be best to call, before settling on just calling Patrick. You feel so fucking bad for him when he answers the phone. _“_ _Pete?”_

“Wrong one.”

_“_ _Fuck. Is he alright?”_

“I don't know. I'm driving right now. He overdosed on Xanax while drinking a bottle of fucking vodka.” _Why the fuck did he do this?_

Patrick is silent for a while, and you're half tempted to hang up on him to focus on driving, but you decide not to since it's kind of a dick move, especially given the situation. _“_ _I can't go home.”_

“Then don't.” Your tone is a bit too sharp and a bit too angry, but come _on,_ his former boyfriend and almost former fiance could fucking _die_ within the day.

 

You end up sitting in the waiting room of the hospital for a good four hours before someone finally fucking comes out to give you an update. The doctor is honestly the definition of beauty, aside from your boyfriend, but he seems like such a fucking asshole. “We pumped his stomach. He should be fine, though.” The doctor gives you some more information, mostly just saying that he's asleep, and that he should wake up in a few hours.

 

You're sitting next to his bed when he wakes up, arms crossed, and a slightly dirty look settling onto your face. You're holding your tongue, knowing full well yelling at him definitely isn't the best choice. The first thing out of his mouth is, “My head hurts.”

“I'd imagine so,” comes your dry response. “You popped a bunch of Xanax and drank half a bottle of vodka. I'd be surprised if you weren't hurting.”

He sighs and just stares at the ceiling.

“Why?”

“I don't know.” Aaand now he's crying. It's not full on sobbing or anything, but he's tearing up quite a bit. “I was freaking out I guess, but once I actually _did_ it, I realized I don't want to die. I just feel so fucking hopeless all the time, and all my psychiatrist wants to do is up my dose on my antidepressants and anxiety meds. How did you like—figure this shit out in the first place?”

“Patrick.”

He grunts. “Fuckin' snitch.”

“Look, would you rather be dead?”

“No. Do you know when I can go home?”

“In a few days.”

“Fuck.” He sits up, and curses again as he does so. “I can't afford that.”

“But I can, so lay your ass back down and don't worry about it.”

You get up to leave, but he asks if you can stay for a while, and, okay, you're not as much of an asshole as you're making yourself out to be right now. He's basically your best friend, and you'd probably let him pull your teeth out right now if he wanted to.

 

Pete, apparently, doesn't trust himself to stay alone in his apartment, so he ends up occupying one of the other bedrooms.

You know Dallon has good intentions, but he is so not smooth in how he executes things. He has a knack for waking people up at ungodly hours (like, six in the morning ungodly.) You're already up this time, and you're following him, saying, “Dallon, c'mon, he's still sleeping. Tell him this evening.”

He doesn't even acknowledge you as he barges into the room Pete's claimed, telling him to get up. “You're going to work.”

He groans and rolls over to sit up. You give him an apologetic look before Dallon asks, “I told you I quit.”

“Yeah, and _I'm_ hiring you. Get up and get dressed in something professional.”

“Pardon?”

“My assistant quit yesterday, so you're my new assistant. You need to get out of the house, and I pay generously.” He has his arms crossed, and, good god, he sounds like a fucking _dad._ You do want kids one day, but you think it's a little too soon for him to be busting out the dad voice. Oh god. You want _kids._ Did you seriously just think that?

Pete grumbles but he tells either of you that he figures it's a good idea, so he complies. (When the two of them get home, Pete informs you that Dallon basically made him do his paperwork, which causes you to get on to Dallon. He needs to do his own fucking paperwork.)

 

The first day of winter break you end up on a plane to Tokyo, and instead of being accompanied by Tyler, you're accompanied by Pete, who pretty much _begged_ you to let him tag along. (“Dallon's basically working me ragged. _Please_ let me come with you.”)

 

“Do we just, like, stay in the hotel until you do your modeling thing?”

You deadpan; “Do you know how much shit I have to do within the week? If you plan on tagging along with my work stuff, well, we probably won't be here for more than eight hours a day, if that.

“I have a press thing to do, like, interviews. Tyler told me they're probably going to ask about the photo incident, which I'm not looking forward to, but I have a few responses ready just in case. After that, I have a meeting with the company forward slash magazine I'm going to do a photo-shoot for, meaning I have to sign legal documents or whatever. Contracts and such. Also, fuck, they're probably going to be in Japanese. I hope the translator is good.

“The photo-shoot itself will probably take a long fucking time, since there's a lot of shit I have to do with it. I have no clue if you know this, but, like, with photo-shoots there's usually at _least_ ten people all over me with make up, and with shows there's been times that there's been upwards of a hundred people. It's so fucking nerve wracking, and I have no idea why I do it.”

He just kind of stares in shock. “How many days is that covering?”

“Four? Maybe five. We're going home after the sixth day.”

“I didn't realize how hard either of you worked. Damn.”

You shrug. “The modeling thing usually doesn't feel like work. I enjoy it, despite the hell I put myself through. I have one more job the week before winter break is over, and I _think_ it's in Germany. Either Germany or France. Who knows. Tyler will tell me the week before.”

“Jesus Christ, dude. I couldn't travel that much.”

You shrug. “I get to meet a lot of people and see a lot of things, so, in a way, it's worth it. I miss seeing friends and like, sleeping in my own bed, but, what can you do, you know?”

“Don't the plane rides get boring?”

“That's what they invented music and movies for, dude.”

“Smart ass. You know what I mean.”

“They do, but normally I just sleep through them. Ask Dallon about his shoulder. I've slept on it enough that I wouldn't be surprised if he lost an arm due to lack of circulation.” That earns you a snort.

 

Pete goes back to his own apartment in the beginning of February, and he thanks both you and Dallon _endlessly_ for helping him get back on his feet. You told him not to sweat it because, honestly, that's what friends are for, you know? He was there for you when you needed someone, and it's your turn to return the favor.

You pretty much write Patrick off as dead over the course of those four months Pete had basically been living with you, though. Not _once_ had he called to check in on things. You get it, he's busy with his music, but you figured he'd be concerned about the guy he'd spent ten years with, right?

Okay, okay, you shouldn't assume that he _wasn't_ concerned, but at least a call or a text or some other gesture would've sufficed. You don't think he grasps how much that fucked with Pete. Of course, he got through it, and figured out how to deal with it, but it still peeved you. It just bothers you when people bail as soon as things get real. It's a shitty fucking thing to do, no matter who you are. Though, , an upside to all this is that Pete figured out who is real friends are.

(Also, if there's one true upside of Pete going back to his own home, it's the fact that you can, once again, have loud, uninhibited sex with Dallon. Yes, you have fucked up priorities, and no, you don't care.)

 

The week after Pete leaves, Tyler basically scares you to the point of a massive coronary by just barging into the fucking house and shouting for you. “Can you fucking _knock?”_

 _Blink blink._ “You said I was welcome any time.”

“That doesn't mean you can just walk in and yell at me at—” you look at your phone; “—eight in the fucking morning.”

“Too late, fucker.”

You just sigh, and decide not to fight him.

 

Literally a second or two after you finish your breakfast, you're forced to sit back down at the table, and you're handed a stack of papers. “What are these?”

“Three of them you need to sign so I can actually get _paid,_ since you've apparently forgotten I'm not working for you for free,” he's flipping through his own stack of papers, and not looking at you before continuing, “Two of them are legal documents that you need to sign so I can actually _continue_ working for you, then the rest is your contract with the agency, which _you_ need to renew. They wanted to do a meeting, but I'm not flying to fucking Los Angeles right now, so they faxed the papers to me.”

“Oh. Okay...” It's too early for this. You motion for him to hand you one of his pens, and you get threatened with castration if you don't return this one. “You don't happen to know how much I made last year, do you?”

“Roughly three mil,” comes his bored, dry response. “Ten percent. Three hundred thousand.”

You sigh before scribbling your signature onto the three papers. Tyler is fucking expensive. Actually, he's not _that_ expensive, but he still costs you a pretty penny. He's your friend and all, you think, _but of course_ you're still basically his employer. You look at the next two, and skim them, before asking, “Did you change anything from last year on these two?”

“Nope. I still get ten percent of whatever you make, and I'm still basically responsible for whatever you do. The only thing different is the date. I literally just changed the date on the one you signed last year.”

You sign those two, then you actually take the time to read the rest of the papers. You stop at some point to drop a comment. “'...expected to maintain the proper physique?' Is this real?”

“Yes, Brendon, it's real. You've maintained your body for the past two years so I wouldn't worry about it.”

You grumble out something else before continuing with your reading up until your next comment. “Whoa, wait, they bumped up their cut of whatever I make to ten percent instead of five.”

“If you made one mil this year, then subtract whatever you pay me _and_ them, you'd still get eight hundred thousand before taxes.”

Eventually you get it signed, then pass it back to Tyler since his signature is needed for whatever reason.

“That's all you need to sign for now. Two weeks out from now we're going to...” He frowns and pulls out another paper from his briefcase. “Portland. Right. You've got the, uh, photo-shoot for Ivo, which is that new clothing line or whatever the fuck.”

“Alright. What's after that?”

“We'll get back here within three days after the Ivo shoot, then you have another three weeks off before we go to Paris for probably the fifteenth fucking time. You're going to be stuck with me and Josh for a month and a half, just warning you now. You've got a bunch of shit to do with Yves Saint Laurent, then I managed to book you for a show with Dior. And—actually, I lied, we're going to be in Paris for about three weeks, then we're going to _Milan_ for a few other high profile shows. I don't have anything for you after that. Yet.”

You just nod, saying, “Alright then. Why's Josh going with us?”

He looks up at you, and, presumably, quotes the aforementioned man, “'I'm tired of fucking New York and I cannot go back to Columbus without wanting to kill myself, so you're taking me with you the next time you're overseas.' He's clingy.”

“Understandable. You're away from home more than I am, right?”

“Yep. Last year I was home for _maybe_ a month. Haven't really had the chance to see him or whatever. I don't particularly mind the clinginess.” He mutters the last part, then tells you not to say anything the instant you open your mouth to make a remark. “Anyways, you can handle the month and a half, right?”

“I'm not going to have a nervous breakdown, Tyler. I'll be stressed as hell, sure, but I'll be _fine.”_

“Just making sure. I've seen some shit.”

You snort. “I'm gonna ask Dallon if he wants to tag a long, but if he does, Pete's probably going to end up going too.”

“ _Why?”_

“Pete's his assistant and my friend. It's an excuse to travel.” You shrug and get up from the table, leaving him to do his own paperwork.

 

You leave Tyler alone in the house for a few hours while you go run a few errands, and when you get back, he is _still_ hunched over a bunch of paper work in the kitchen. You set a few bags down on the counter next to the fridge before walking over to Tyler to nudge him in the leg with your foot. “Why aren't you at your own house?”

“Yours is quieter and your heating actually works. Also, your fridge isn't filled with Red Bull and leftover Taco Bell.”

“Fair enough.”

 _“_ _Though,_ you do have a few questionable things in your fridge.”

You blank for a second, trying to remember whether or not someone had let something go bad, but then you realize what he's talking about. He's talking about _the cake._ There isn't too much of a story behind it other than _someone_ (Dallon) shooting his load a second or two too soon, and you ending up with semen in your right eye, like, two days previous.

He felt bad, and also apparently felt too awkward to verbally apologize with actual words, so he got a cake with, “Sorry about getting semen in your eye,” written across the top of it in frosting. You've eaten around the writing, mostly, and you didn't realize Tyler was going to be going through the fridge. “I'm… aware.”

“I want context for the cake.” Every single fucking person you know likes to watch you squirm. Why is that? Who the hell knows.

“I was giving head and his aim sucks.” _Shrug._

 

“Portland is so fucking small. Holy shit.”

“We've been here for about half an hour, and there's six hundred thousand people here. It's not that small.”

You hit Tyler in the arm with your elbow. “I'm used to New York.”

 

The Ivo shoot is fun. It's a pretty small shoot, and it isn't high profile, meaning it's less stressful. You don't have fifteen hundred people all over you with make up and whatnot, and the people aren't super fucking strict or professional.

 

The day before you go home after the Ivo shoot, one of your top five all time favorite interactions you've had on Twitter happens.

 

_**Jane Doe @somerando – 11:06 AM** _

_**@brendonurie**_ you only got to where you are on your back

 

_**bread king @brendonurie – 11:17 AM** _

_**@somerando**_ actually, I got to where I am on my hands and knees, thank you very much.

 

It takes about five minutes for Tyler to barge into your room looking a little peeved. “You can't just post shit like that, you prick.”

You squint at him. “Do you have notifications on for me?”

“Yes, I do. Think of me as a substitute parent.”

 

Two days after you're home, you get an invitation to a wedding in the mail. _Spencer,_ apparently, is getting married, and you're invited, of course. It doesn't even need to be said but Dallon is your plus one.

You're excited for the wedding, you are, but you're hit with a realization at the rehearsal dinner a week later: _Ryan_ is there. If either of you weren't in the place of best man, you'd be able to avoid him, but, no, sadly, you're going to be stuck next to him for however long it takes the minister to read out of the bible and for Spencer and his fiance to read their vows.

You end up going between watching Spencer and maintaining eye contact with Dallon, in favor of paying Ryan any mind. It's so fucking awkward. You're twenty three, yet you still maintain the ability to have a panic attack over some asshole you were dating for two and a half years when you were _seventeen._ It's been six years. _I need to get over this shit. He doesn't deserve attention from me._

The reception is a fucking _nightmare._ Okay, it's actually really fucking lovely up until a certain point, but, backtracking to the Ryan situation, you're sat at a table with him and your current boyfriend. (Or partner? Boyfriend seems a little too casual for someone you've been with for a little over three years.) You think Dallon asks you if you're alright in French. You've improved in that language, but you still don't understand about half of it.

You look over to Ryan to make sure he isn't paying attention before you subtly jerk your head to him, saying the French word for 'past,' then what you _think_ the word for boyfriend is. You'd say 'ex,' but you know the other would pick up on it.

You think he asks you if you want to leave next, so you shake your head. Spencer would _probably_ be at least a _little_ pissed at you if you left in the middle of the reception. You can pretty much feel yourself slipping into the mindset that you'd been in when you were seventeen, right after _the break up._

The two or three months following that break up were the worst months of your fucking life. He'd indirectly outed to your parents a few months before you turned eighteen. It sounds like something out of some gay movie on Netflix, but your home life took a sharp turn downwards.

The day of, you'd gotten yelled at and, honestly, your parents had said such horrible things to you. Will you ever forgive them for some of the shit they'd said? Probably not. After you'd had a new asshole ripped, your father gave you an ultimatum: Give up your disgusting lifestyle or leave as soon as you turn eighteen.

Your parents refused to talk to you more than necessary, and you, essentially, had been cut off from whatever necessities they'd provided you with in the first place. All of the fucking _bullshit_ you'd been through with your parents around that time in your life could _all_ be traced back to Ryan fucking Ross.

He, obviously, was the person you'd lost your virginity to, and, alright, the first time wasn't half bad once you'd gotten used to it, but as time went on, you learned that, apparently, he didn't know what 'no' meant. You never bluntly said no whenever he'd try coming onto you and you weren't interested, but, in your opinion at least, your discomfort was obvious, and he should've known better.

So, on top of being wildly uncomfortable in his presence, you're thinking of all the times that'd happened, plus about fifteen hundred other shitty things that had happened between the two of you, and, alright, you're feeling a little overwhelmed right now. Honestly, you don't know why it's now, six years later, that all of this is starting to fucking bug you again.

“Oh, good god,” Dallon lightly hits you in the arm to get your attention, before pointing to someone standing near the wedding cake. “I didn't think people actually wore brown shoes with black slacks. Straight people are so _tacky.”_

You figure he's trying to joke around to distract you, and, hey, you can play along. “You're the one who wore an argyle patterned tie with a striped shirt,” comes your dry response.

“That was one time, and I was hungover. You made me change anyways.”

“I can't love someone who's tacky. We're breaking up.”

“A wedding and a break up in the same day,” And _that's_ the first time Ryan has spoken to you in six years. He gives you a dirty look before getting up from the table and sauntering over to where Spencer is standing with his now wife.

You never took Dallon for a catty fag, but, apparently, he can be. “Well, he's a snide little shit.”

“I wish he'd just fuck off and die already.” You, Brendon 'I'd never wish death upon anyone' Urie, saying that. You never thought you'd see the day.

“I seriously want to punch him. He seems like some pious, sanctimonious little prick.”

“Well, I can't argue with the 'little prick' remark,” You mutter as you take a sip of champagne and throw a look towards Ryan and Spencer, only to find them looking at you. Spencer keeps giving Ryan stern, motherly glares, and you know he's telling Ryan to shut the fuck up from the way his lips are moving. _I wonder what he's saying._

Dallon snorts at your response to him, and bumps your arm with his elbow. “They have shitty champagne.”

“Not everyone can afford five hundred dollar bottles of champagne, Dallon.” You roll your eyes at him.

He swishes his drink around in the glass and grunts. “Let me be a whiny rich white boy.”

“Don't you mean grandpa?”

He kicks your leg under the table. “I'm thirty-three. I'm not a grandpa.”

“You're _ancient.”_

“If I'm ancient, then you're basically an infant.”

“More like jail-bait and a home-wrecker.”

“Oh, quit it with the self deprecation.” He throws an arm over your shoulder and pulls you close to smack a kiss on your cheek. _Is he seriously drunk from cheap champagne? Lightweight. Of course, I'm not exactly sober either, but he should really pace himself._ “You are _perfect.”_

You get him in the ribs with your elbow. “Shut up. You're drunk.”

“Doesn't stop you from being perfect. Anyways, I'm telling the truth. Alcohol lowers your inhibitions, right?”

“I think it does. I appreciate the sentiment, at least.” You turn your head a bit to sneak in a quick kiss and to let off a small grin. It's a cute moment until you hear a heavy and _annoyed_ sigh. For a second, you think Tyler's there, since it's one of his usual moves, but then you realize he's in Ibiza for a party, meaning that it has to be Ryan.

Dallon's head snaps over to him, and he's asking, “What?” in one of his confrontational 'I'm drunk and I need to shut the fuck up' tones.

“Undignified public displays of affection make me sick,” Comes Ryan's smooth, slightly dry response. You know Ryan absolutely fucking _despises_ you, but, Jesus, you forgot how much of a prick he was.

“I didn't realize what I do with my partner in public was any of your business.” He contradicts himself just a bit when he takes his arm from around your shoulders and returns to his previous position of lounging in his chair, sipping champagne.

Ryan just huffs and averts his gaze to someone else.

Dallon calls him a 'fucking asshole' in French, and you just laugh, then even more so when Ryan gives him a weird look. You have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing more, but hey, you're inebriated, and he's getting insulted without even being aware of it.

You're still wildly uncomfortable, sadly. You feel like you're back at the one family reunion you'd managed to talk your parents into letting you take Ryan to. He kept dropping snide remarks, and ridiculing you whenever you did _anything_ he didn't like. (IE; talking to anyone. He literally got pissed off at you for making small talk with some aunt you can't even remember the name of.)

 

Dallon gets up ten or twenty minutes later to use the restroom and get the two of you more champagne and maybe more wedding cake, which leaves you sitting, alone, with Ryan. Your discomfort has increased tenfold, at the very least. Ryan looks at you with venom, then dropping a far too smooth, confident, and condescending remark; “He's a little old.”

You shrug. “Did I ask?”

“I'm just speaking my mind.” Oh, good fucking god, he used to say that all the damn time. You don't respond to him, in favor of not flying across the table to snap his neck. He takes your lack of a response as permission to ask you if you're anorexic. Of all the things he could've asked, he makes a remark regarding your weight. _I get it, I'm underweight, and I'd like people to quit fucking asking me about it. I_ know. _It's not as if I'm fucking_ blind, _because I'm_ not. _I literally spend hours looking at myself in mirrors, and, Jesus, I'm glad I'm not with Ryan still. I probably would've killed myself by now. Because—_

—how fucking unnecessary is he? You take a moment to take in his appearance for more than a few seconds, and from the glazed look in his eye and the red cheeks, you think it's a pretty safe bet to assume that he's drunk. “To reiterate; did I ask?”

“It's just a question; don't get worked up.” Ah, yes, the _sneer._

“It's invasive, rude, _none of your_ _fucking_ _business,_ and not your place to ask.” You cross your arms as you lean back, still trying to resist the urge to snap his fucking neck. He gets up after you say that, and says something to Dallon as he passes him. Whatever he says to Dallon causes him to gently set down the two glasses of champagne he'd holding so he can reel back and deck Ryan in the fucking jaw.

You're across the room in about two seconds because, _nope,_ you're not letting them cause too much of a scene. If Dallon was a cat, you're pretty sure all of his fur would be standing on end, and that he would be hissing up a fucking storm. You end up grabbing his ear, pulling him down to your level, and trying to whisper to him to tell him him to behave in very, _very_ broken French. He gets the idea, you assume, since he takes a deep breath and blinks very deliberately before straightening up and brushing nonexistent dust off of his suit.

 

Spencer ends up telling you to leave, and to take Dallon with you, and although you're butthurt, you figure that Ryan is more important to him than you are, considering you don't see him more than a few days every year or so, if that.

 

Back at the hotel room, you kick your shoes off as soon as you're in the room, then as you're unbuttoning the cuffs on your shirt, you say, “I think that's the first time I've been kicked out of a wedding reception.”

“And I'm pretty sure that's the last wedding I'm going to, unless we get married some day.” He's slipping off his blazer and getting to work on unbuttoning his slacks.

Well, he just reminded you of the time you found the _rings._ You're not sure if they're old rings from when he was with his ex-wife, or if they're new, but you think they're new since they're both plain, silver bands. You were very specific when putting them back in their spot, and you think you happened to be pretty good at pretending you hadn't found them. “Actually, Tyler's engaged, and if he gets married any time soon, then we're both probably getting invited to _that_ wedding.” You give him a half shrug as you start taking off your own blazer, then debate for a few minutes on whether or not you should say the next part; “I'm not really against the idea of marrying you some day.”

“You still got a few years before I'm considering it. Not really into making you feel pressured or whatever.”

“You do realize I'd just bluntly tell you no if I wasn't interested, right?”

“I know, but I still worry. It's my innate goodness.”

You snort. “You're full of shit.”

“Sorry, I just—I kind of want to take shit like that super slow. Aside from me being gay and falling in love with a man ten years my junior, I think that's part of what went wrong with my ex-wife. We got married when _we_ were twenty three, and had no clue what the fuck we were doing.”

“I kind of wish we would've met sooner.”

“I don't. We probably wouldn't have gone past it just being an affair. You moved to New York when you were eighteen, right? I was twenty-eight, and the power balance would've been weird.”

“That's actually pretty true. You know, I still get pissed off when people think I'm using you. For one thing, you would've dropped me so fucking quick if I was, and another thing, I don't have it in me to do stuff like that. I can't imagine pretending to love someone just for money. It just sounds so _exhausting._ Of course, you're pretty much the reason I'm where I'm at with my career, and my life would've been drastically different if I wouldn't have ever met you.”

“I had a lot to do with _starting_ your career, but you work your fucking ass off. You don't give yourself enough credit, Brendon.”

“That's another thing that upsets me,” at this point you're in the bed, waiting for Dallon to kill the lights and get into the bed next to you. “People assume that what I do is _easy,_ but it's so _not_ easy. I still have a little trouble getting jobs since my face isn't like—it's not _conventionally_ attractive, and then the weight thing happens. I'm fucking exhausted all the damn time too. Do you _know_ how exhausting it is traveling all over the world with minimal sleep, then spending sometimes _days_ at a time working upwards of eighteen hours per?”

He waits to respond until he's on his stomach with an arm thrown across your chest. “I could imagine that'd get exhausting. I can barely handle flying to London or Vancouver for business meetings, so, again, it's a little weird to imagine flying all over the goddamn world within a few months.”

“It's fun, and for whatever reason, I love it. Most of the time, like, this doesn't feel like work. I mean, it does, but it doesn't feel like it did when I was working at Starbucks. You know what I mean?”

He nods as he moves himself closer to you, and so he can press his face into your neck. “Sometimes I kind of wish I wasn't a fucking stockbroker. I mean, I wouldn't trade it for anything, because let's be real, I'm a greedy fuck and I like money, but I had so many dreams, you know?”

“What kind of dreams?”

“Music, acting, drawing, the whole works. I haven't touched a sketchbook with a pencil in years, and I'm probably tone deaf by now, but _god._ I don't think I was meant to be a business man.”

“I think you were. I mean, I kind of think everything happens the way they're supposed to. Maybe it's for the best, or maybe it's not, like, I don't know that, but fate and all that bullshit.”

“Aren't you an atheist?”

“You know what? I didn't ask for this harassment.”

You can feel him smiling against your neck, and, _alright,_ you really, _really_ love this man more than even _you_ can comprehend.

 

Things are alright for just about six months. Your birthday in April is pretty great. Tyler conspires with Dallon, and the two of them throw you a kick-ass surprise party. There aren't a lot of people, but it's still pretty fun. Pete's there, with a _girlfriend,_ which kind of surprises you, since you thought he was gay. Your fault for assuming, you guess. Patrick's there, and even more surprising is the fact him and Pete aren't at each others throats.

A few other models and actors you'd made friends with over the past few years show up too, and man, you just have a great time.

You visit your mother in the summer, with Dallon, and it's pretty fun. You were glad to see that your mother actually _likes_ Dallon, and she's making one hell of an attempt to get to know him better and to lose her judgmental attitude. It's also kind of nice to actually have a healthy relationship with your mother.

Your father doesn't make any attempt to see you, your mother, or Dallon, and you're actually alright with it. He's an asshole, and you don't need that in your life. You don't bother trying to see Spencer. You're glad that he's married, and that things are going good for him, but you've come to the realization that you _cannot_ have _any_ association with Ryan whatsoever, meaning you _kind of_ had to cut Spencer off. You feel a little bad, but your safety comes first.

Before you go back to school in August, Dallon finally follows through with his promise to take you to Ibiza. It's warm, and there's an endless supply of cute guys. It's the slightest bit boring, due to the amount of tourism and the _catering_ to tourists, but you enjoy traveling _without_ working so similar to other times, you'll take what you can get.

Late in September the economy starts taking a fucking shit. You were laying in bed, wrapped in a few blankets, watching the news for once in your life and trying not to freeze to death due to the cold you'd caught, when you hear something about a steep drop in prices within a day, and you physically freeze. Like, motion wise. _Uh oh._

You knew a little bit about the economy from school and from what Dallon had told you, and you knew that the prices of stocks dropping was _not_ a good thing, especially given his profession. You start panicking just a little bit, even though you know he has more than enough money to live off the interest and _still_ be super fucking wealthy.

He comes home a few hours later, around two, and as soon as he walks into the bedroom, he says, “I'm fucked.” He kicks his shoes off near the door, and tosses his blazer in the vague direction of the laundry hamper before laying on his back, on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

“I was watching the news. What happened?”

“Trading was halted for the day, and I'm about to lose a fuck ton of money. There's a bunch of panic sellers, and stocks dropped so fucking low today.” He scrubs his hands down his face, and groans _very_ loudly.

“How much money?” You sniff, and adjust yourself to look at him a little more.

“Twenty mil. Roughly. Might be more, might be less.”

“Jesus. You can afford it, right?”

“I can, but that's still a _lot._ Fuck. The last time this happened was in 2008, and even then, it wasn't as bad as _today._ They're hyping it up a bit on the news, but it's still so, _so_ bad.”

“Get up here. I'll try not to get you sick.” You move one of your arms from under the blanket, and pat the bed.

He lays on his back, and he's babbling on and on. “I might lose the house, because, this place isn't _cheap._ The property taxes are fucking insane, not to mention insurance for the place, and insurance for the _cars._ Pete isn't cheap either, nor is my lawyer or anyone who works for me. Jesus, I might lose everything.”

“You're being a bit dramatic, Dallon. We still have _my_ income, and you don't _know_ what's going to happen.” You sniff, and cough into your elbow.

“No, listen to me. The last time this happened, it was in 2008, and things were just _barely_ starting to get better, but here we are, in 2016. We have the election coming up too, and if Trump gets elected, he's probably going to drive the fucking economy into the ground.”

“We can just move if we have to. I mean, it's not as simple as that, but we're fucking rich, so who gives a shit, right? Rent a condo in Tampa, retire, play golf, and sip martinis.”

You get a sly look out of him. “You've got a skewed sense of how life works, kid. We _could_ move, but I don't—it probably wouldn't work out. Or maybe it would. I would lose my job, though, and I'd screw over a bunch of other people if I didn't get the chance to promote someone else to take my position.”

You scoot towards him a little. “You still don't know that any of that's going to happen, though. Just—let's take things a day at a time, alright? Aren't you always telling me that?”

 _Now,_ you get a bored look out of him. “I guess there's a chance that this could be a one time freak thing.” He just sighs. “I think I'm going to go take a shower then cook something. You want anything?”

You have the most pitiful voice as you ask him if he'd be so kind as to make some chicken noodle soup and some tea for you. Of course, he happily complies, what with being a typical doting boyfriend.

 

You're a little glad you're sick, since this is one of those rare occasions Dallon lets you eat in the bedroom, and one of the even rarer occasions where he eats with you. He doesn't give a shit where you eat in the house, as long as it's not the room you share with him. He's a weird guy. Understandable, but weird.

Before he lets you even _touch_ the soup or the tea, though, he hands you a thermometer and tells you to take your temperature. He has four Advil in his hand, which he plans to make you take in the interest of bringing down your fever if you have one. “Hundred and one. Jesus Christ, no wonder I feel like shit.” You hold a hand out and he drops the Advil in it.

“Don't get me sick, or I will maim you.”

“No you wont. You'll make me take care of you, and then you'll whine for a week because I'll probably sleep on the couch or in one of the other rooms.”

He sits down next to you with shitty microwaved chicken nuggets, and you stare, enviously, as you sip at your soup _and_ your tea.

“Can I have one?”

“...No.”

“I am _dying._ Please let me have one.”

He just rolls his eyes and holds his plate out to you. “ _One._ And no double dipping in the ranch or I'm kicking you out.”

You give him a smug, shit-eating look. Or, well, a _chicken nugget-_ eating look. You kind of end up regretting the chicken nugget, since you get a bit nauseous from it, but go big or go home, right?

 

As far as stocks and the economy goes, things get worse, and Dallon's income decreases considerably. You up your own workload, and cutting your annual six month break off at two and a half months, along with taking a break from your education to do so, so you can try to supplement the income. You apologize to Dallon for it, but, you steal his assistant away from him, since Tyler apparently gets busy later in the year and can't accompany you overseas all the time.

Pete isn't unpleasant to travel with. Actually, you like traveling with him better than you do Tyler, mostly since he isn't up your ass about work. (You know that Tyler has good intentions, and only wants the best for you, but, Christ, he gets annoying.)

You do make him _work,_ much to his dismay. He thought that by being around _you_ instead of your boyfriend, he would get a break, but, no, he was sorely mistaken. You're not as harsh as Dallon is, of course, but Pete still gets nailed with (part of) your paperwork. You pay him the same as Dallon does, though, so he keeps his mouth shut.

 

You manage to be home for Thanksgiving for the second time since you'd met Dallon. It's fun, yet exhausting. Only five people come over, and even though the house is pretty fuckin' large, it's still a bit of a tight fit.

Your mother flies to New York from Las Vegas, Pete and his girlfriend, who is an absolute sweetheart, show up, then Tyler drags Josh over since neither of them are interested in going to Columbus, Lebanon, or Japan for the holiday.

After the meal, which you and your mother fucking _slaved_ over, you end up on the patio with Pete and Josh, getting stoned, and trying not to freeze your asses off in the late November New York weather. “Guys, I have some important news.” Pete's leaning forward, elbows on his knees, looking between you and Josh intensely.

“Hit me,” comes your response as you flick ashes into an ashtray.

“Let me guess—you're pregnant?”

You do a spit-take at Josh's fucking response, and Pete sighs. Heavily. “ _I'm_ not pregnant.”

“Wait wait wait—is she pregnant?” Now it's your turn to lean forward, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

Pete has a dumb grin on his face, and he's nodding violently. He's a little breathless and sounds way too excited when he states that, “I'm going to be a dad.”

“You're twenty-nine, right?” you ask.

“Yeah. I'm probably a little too young for this, but it's whatever, you know?”

“You're having a kid, dude. It's not just _whatever.”_

“Shut up, Josh; you know what I mean. Are either of you going to have kids one day?”

“I'm twenty four and I still have _almost_ no interest in getting _married,_ not to mention having a _kid.”_

“Well, _I'm_ thirty, and I've been engaged for two years or so. The relationship I have with Tyler progresses at about the pace of two snails fucking. _Very slowly._ I probably wont have any kids until I'm, like, fifty.”

You try not to giggle when Pete says, “I fear for any children you have. You'd probably feed them Red Bull and Taco Bell.”

Josh takes his shoe off and throws it at Pete. “Screw you, dude. Do you think I got my physique from Red Bull and Taco Bell?” He flexes his muscles “I am actually _quite_ healthy.”

“I've known you since you were fifteen, and not _once_ have I seen you eat anything healthier than canned corn. It's a wonder you're not fat. Shit—how are you even _muscular?”_

“Protein and perseverance.”

“Pete, you practically live off of pizza and take-out. You're not one to talk.”

“Fuck yourself, Brendon. You're the one who drinks coffee as if it's water, and if you're not drinking coffee, you're drinking liquor.”

“Why would I fuck myself when I have a perfectly fine and well-endowed boyfriend? Also, that's not true. I have orange juice sometimes, thank you very much.”

Either of them let out peals of ugly laughter.

The conversation goes on, and the three of you banter, until Josh reveals that he, apparently, has absolutely no chill whatsoever. “So, _Brendon,_ what's Dallon like in bed?”

That's also the moment Dallon steps out on the patio to bum a smoke. “Yeah, _Brendon,_ what am I like in bed?”

Aaand then your face turns about as red as an apple, before Pete lets out one of his straight-boy war cries and collapses into another laughing fit. “He's _fine.”_

As you light Dallon's cigarette for him, he's saying, “ _Just_ fine?”

Your foot makes contact with his shin, and you give him the dirtiest look you can muster. “Dallon, go back inside so I can discuss our sex life in peace.”

“I'm not smoking in the house, and I don't want your mother to maim me. Also, _Pete's_ girlfriend,” Dallon gives Pete a pointed look as he continues, “is pregnant, and like, I'm pretty sure it's a thing that you're not supposed to smoke around pregnant people or babies.”

Josh apparently had a sudden realization of _something,_ because his hands slam down on the patio table, and he looks as if he's discovered the answers to everything in the universe. _Someone needs to take his weed away._ “Pete, does this mean I can _finally_ call you 'daddy?'”

Pete clicks his tongue. “I hate all of you.”

Dallon scoffs. “What the hell did _I_ do?”

“You make me do your paperwork.” Arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

Josh bites his tongue, and you let out a low whistle.

“Brendon, keep your whistles to yourself, because you're just about as bad as your lover is.”

“ _Oh,_ you did _not_ just call me his lover. Watch your mouth, or I'm going to fire you.”

“You don't have the nerve, dude. You're a total _pushover.”_

“Brendon, he may be a pushover with you, but he's a fucking _cunt_ at work.”

Josh makes a remark about the three of you basically being the gay equivalent of Day of our Lives, and Pete kicks him under the table.

“It's either I'm a cunt at work, or I get screwed out of a company. At work, I'm your boss, _not_ your friend.”

You snort and mutter, “Alright, Tyler Jr.”

Josh groans and rolls his eyes. “Did he tell you that he's your _manager_ and not your friend?”

“Like, three years ago.”

“He's such a little shit to all of his clients. I'm surprised he even _has_ any.”

“Most of his income comes from me anyways.”

“So, like, are you my indirect sugar daddy?” His eyes are wide and his eyebrows are raised up to the fucking moon in mock shock and—

“You're so stoned. Oh my god.”

“You're _all_ stoned, and I'm going back inside to chat up your mother,” he points at you, “ _your_ girlfriend,” he points at Pete, “and your fiance,” finally, he points at Josh.

Once he's back inside, you drop a comment. “For a gay guy, he sure is a ladies' man.”

 

Around midnight, after your mother has gone to bed, the remaining six of you play Never Have I Ever. You know Pete, Dallon, Tyler, and maybe even Josh are most likely going to make it their mission to make sure you're out first, and you're going to try your damnedest to nail the rest of them.

A rock-paper-scissors contest takes place to see which one of you goes first, and of _fucking_ course it's Pete. “Never have I ever gotten plastered, been slipped some E, then fucked one of my best friends.” He's looking you dead in the eye, and honestly, you really want to fly across the circle and wrap your hands around his neck.

2010 was a wild year. You were eighteen, and it was about four months after you'd moved to New York when Pete dragged you and Josh out to go clubbing. Josh, being the awkward and overly nice guy he is, bought you a few drinks after you'd asked, and basically, long story short, the two of you were really, _really_ wasted, and ended up fucking.

You put a finger down, and then you watch as Josh slowly puts a finger down as well, and _then_ you try not to die of embarrassment when everyone else (save for Tyler, who is staring at either of you in shock) starts laughing their asses off. You have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing when Tyler slowly and _very_ deliberately says, _“Joshua William Dun.”_

He pales, and everyone slips into a bout of silence before he explains. “Look, it was the one time we broke up for like, three months, and it was just a drunken fuck. That's it.”

Tyler looks at you next, and you kind of just— “I'm not touching any of this with a ten foot pole. You're on your own, Josh.”

 

You take it upon yourself to go next. “Never have I ever came running out of the bathroom with my dick out, telling the poor eighteen year old that lives with me and my boyfriend to look at my wicked boner.”

Dallon chokes out a wheezing laugh, Meagan puts a hand over her mouth, trying not to let Pete see the smile across her face, and Tyler makes the following remark: _“He's got you now, fucker.”_

“Brendon, you _bitch_.” He looks not actually livid, but pretty close to it, as he puts a finger down.

“Don't start fights you can't win, asshole.”

 

Tyler's turn scares you a bit. He looks back and forth between you and Josh, trying to decide which one of you he wants to screw over first, before looking at Dallon with a smug look on his face. “Never have I ever socked my partner's ex-boyfriend in the face at a wedding reception.”

Dallon takes a deep breath, then slowly puts a finger down. _You know, he never did tell me what Ryan said to him._

Josh is next; “Never have I ever gotten stopped at customs for having a dildo and a slightly too large bottle of lube in my suitcase.”

You've seen a lot of facial expressions come from Tyler, but he turns so red that you can actually visually see his skin turning red, which is something in and of itself, considering how _tan_ he is. “You motherfucker. You're dead.”

Meagan absolutely _destroys_ Pete. “Never have I ever accidentally sent a picture of my own genitalia to the wrong person.” She also destroys you, Dallon, Josh, _and_ Tyler, but the look on Pete's face is totally worth it.

Dallon's next, and as usual, you get the urge to go on a killing spree. “Never have I ever downed a lethal amount of alcohol, then thrown it up all over the fucking patio.”

Josh makes a remark about that being oddly specific, and you kick Dallon in the shin, under the guise of him being your boyfriend, meaning that you can do that without getting in trouble for it.

“Never have I ever managed to flood my kitchen with dish soap suds after using the wrong soap in the dishwasher.”

You give Pete a dirty look, and put a finger down, along with Meagan, before reminding Pete that he's done it before, and that he just screwed himself. He curses, but puts a finger down nonetheless. “Never have I ever dressed up as a nun for Halloween.”

“Fuck you, Brendon.” Dallon is down to seven fingers now.

“Never have I ever...” Tyler looks between _everyone_ now, as if he's an assassin. “…smoked weed.”

Everyone. Literally everyone, except Tyler, puts a finger down. You, Pete, and Josh in particular give him dirty looks.

“Never have I ever single handedly destroyed a marriage.” You're getting a look from Josh, and—

You put your tongue in your cheek, trying your best not to laugh at the very, _very_ offended look Dallon gets as soon as Josh says that. “He _didn't_ destroy my marriage. _I_ did.”

“Then put a finger down, fucker,” You quip at him about as fast as a jet plane.

Everyone lets out a chorus of 'ooh's before it's Meagan's turn again. “Never have I ever fallen asleep, standing up, at an airport.”

Pete, Josh, and Tyler are nailed with this one.

“Never have I ever sucked a hundred dicks over the course of one summer.”

“Oh, you piece of fucking _shit_.” Josh reaches over the circle to try and smack Pete. _Ah, yes, the legendary summer of a hundred blow jobs. That was a fucking riot._

Currently, you, Dallon, Pete, and Josh are tied, each of you with five fingers down. You decide to knock Tyler down a few pegs, though, because no one else is doing it. “Never have I ever climbed to the top of a four story building just for shits and giggles.”

The look on his face is pure venom.

“Never have I ever cried over accidentally killing a spider while drunk.”

The look of pure venom gets directed at Josh next.

“Never have I ever gotten into a pissing contest over who was going to propose first.”

“Brendon, you are a piece of gossiping shit, and I'm never telling you anything ever again.”

“Never have I ever been pissed off enough to chew someone out in five languages.”

“Jesus Christ; we're supposed to be ganging up on _Brendon,_ not me.”

“Never have I ever yelled at a KKK member in Arabic after hearing an Islamophobic slur.”

You laugh when Tyler puts a finger down. “Isn't Islam about peace?”

Tyler sighs, and gives you a look. “Just because I'm Muslim doesn't mean I have to be gracious to every asshole that exists.” (Well, this confirms your suspicions about his religion. You knew his father was a follower of Islam or however you phrase it (you're a white ex-mormon and you're not educated) and that his mother was Christian, but you didn't know which one _he_ was.)

You put your hands up in defense before taking your turn. “Never have I ever kneed my boyfriend in the nuts while trying to have car sex.”

Dallon reaches around Josh to shove you with an incredulous look on his face. “Asshole.”

You push Josh over when he takes his turn. “Never have I ever gone streaking through the senior hall of my high school then had to run three miles to get home.”

“Never have I ever spilled tomato sauce on my girlfriend's _very_ expensive white dress that she _cherished_ and _adored.”_

Pete squints, and puts a finger down.

“Never have I ever choked on rice so hard I almost threw up.”

“Fucker.”

Dallon leans around Josh again and tries going in for a smug kiss, but you move out of the way, causing him to face plant into the hardwood floor, and causing everyone else to laugh at him.

“Never have I ever forced my boyfriend to spend two thousand dollars to _replace_ the dress.” Pete smiles a shit eating smile at Meagan, and, oh man, the look she gives him is priceless. She's still winning, but hey, it's funny.

“Never have I ever made my boyfriend translate a long as fuck menu from Japanese to English.” Tyler just sighs in defeat and doesn't even try to cuss at you this time.

Josh leans over and whispers, “Should I get Tyler out or throw Pete under the bus?”

You whisper, “Get him out, dude,” back at him.

“Never have I ever broken my nose trying to give head.” (You end up hearing the story for this one. It had to do with a moving van.)

Tyler just stands up, smacks Josh in the back of the head, then heads to the kitchen to, presumably, get a refill on his wine.

Meagan, surprisingly, goes after you. “Never have I ever woken any one up at eight in the morning by walking into their apartment and yelling about something they posted on Twitter.”

Tyler yells, “Fuck off—I don't have anymore fingers to put down.”

“She was going after me, Tyler. Shut up.”

“Never have I ever shown up at someone's _house_ and rang their doorbell constantly for five minutes in the dead of winter.”

“Fuck you, Dallon; _I was cold_ and it was _snowing. Heavily.”_

You pray that Pete has it out for someone else that isn't you, since you're down to one finger. Of course, your prayers aren't answered. “Never have I ever stolen a sixteen pack of Capri Sun from my poor, hurt, and confused roommate.”

“You know what, Pete? Never have I ever had to get a tetanus shot from nicking my left ball with a razor.” You get up after saying that and force Dallon to change his position so you can sit on his lap and force everyone to acknowledge the fact that the two of you are fucking adorable. (And that your ass is kind of sore from sitting on the floor.)

 

Everyone is out of the house by three, thankfully. You can honest to god say that this was honestly one of the best Thanksgivings you've ever had. There weren't any actual fights that weren't playful banter, and the meal was good. You bonded with your mother a bit, which put you in an even better mood, because, honestly, it's nice to actually have a decent relationship with a parent.

 

By four, neither of you are asleep yet, and the two of you kind of have a rule to avoid ruining sleep schedules: If you're up past four, no sleeping until the next day. The only exceptions are jet-lag or being sick. _Or_ if _you_ have a panic attack and can't sleep for a while.

Anyways, point is, the two of you end up having a makeshift date night; watching Netflix on the TV in the bedroom, sharing a bowl of popcorn, and kind of just enjoying each other's company.

Dallon's pretty enthralled in the show the two of you are watching, and eventually he groans after something happens, and asks, “Why cant the guy who looks kinda like me just swallow his fucking pride and tell the blonde kid that he loves him?”

“This whole fucking show is based around that guy being a dumb-ass and not knowing how to properly show affection, and the blonde kid who keeps going back for more, even though the guy treats him like shit half the time.”

He groans again, and rolls his eyes at the show. “Why do you watch this? It's so—it's so corny, and the acting is so _bad.”_

“It's the only show besides The L Word and Orange Is The New Black with a cast made up of mostly queer people. Given my preference for men, The L Word and Orange Is The New Black don't really interest me, and similar to most of my life, I'll take what I can get. The representation sucks, though, considering the whole cast is white.”

He lets out a small 'hm' to assure you that he acknowledged you. Another few minutes pass, and he scrubs a hand down his face. “How come the short Italian one is so fucking _annoying?_ Why is he such an asshole?”

“No one knows. Personally, I think the casting for his character could've been better, but, trust me, I hate the guy about as much as I hate Ryan.”

“… Brendon, it's episode four, and one of them is already in a coma. What the _fuck?_ ”

You exhale a little sharply, blinking almost rapidly. “Season one is fucking wild and ridiculously bad. It gets better, though. Trust me. Though, uh, I'm gonna skip most of it. Like, you can watch it on your own whenever you have the time, but one of them gets in a relationship with a guy that's like, scarily similar to how Ryan was, but not quite as bad, so, uh, you know.” You shrug a little bit, and you have maybe a second or two to feel shitty, before _someone_ kisses you and says something ridiculously sweet/romantic.

 

Around six, either of your phones vibrate with an emergency weather alert via SMS, and about that time, the power cuts out as well. “A fucking blizzard. Jesus.”

“Maybe it wont hit us since we're not quite in the city.”

“Brendon, it's up and down the whole east coast. We're going to get hit with it.”

“Do we have any flashlights or anything?”

“Nope. Not a one. The sun's probably going to come up in a few hours, though, so I don't know. If we stay upstairs, we're probably guaranteed full on sunlight.”

“Dude—what's the worst snow you've seen in New York?”

“2006. In the city, it wasn't actually that bad, like, maybe two feet, but if you got more than ten miles outside of the city, it was upwards of ten feet, not to mention snow drifts.”

“Jesus. That makes me glad I moved here in 2010. I mean, I was also like, thirteen when that happened, so I couldn't have _possibly_ been here, but _you know._ ”

Dallon cringes. “ _God,_ you're so _young.”_

“Okay, but, a twenty four year old being in a relationship with a thirty four year old is different than a thirteen year old being in a relationship with a twenty three year old. Twenty and thirty was a bit of a stretch, though. No offense.”

“None taken. I kind of agree.” He mutters something about the two of you being fucking lucky it worked out, then turns his phone screen on for a little bit so he can see your face and go in for one of those kisses that leaves you smiling uncontrollably and going back for more. Alright, the whole world gets it by now, but, you are so hopelessly in love with this man that sometimes it makes you want to cry because Jesus Christ—you are so fucking _happy_ to have him in your life.

Sometimes you get scared of somehow losing him, because the kind of love you feel for him—it's the kind of love that most people don't get to experience. It's the kind of love that's rare, and the kind of love that's _pure._ Even if the two of you don't work out in the end, you're pretty sure that you'll never stop loving him, even for a second. And, of course, with that being said, you, in your deliriously tired state, start to essentially recite what you'd thought.

You pull away, but keep your forehead pressed against his. “I love you.” You can kind of see the small grin on his face from the light that's reflecting off of the snow outside, and after he says that he loves you too, you're saying, “No, listen to me. I _really_ love you.” You move your head to one of his shoulders, and let out a shaky breath before continuing. “It scares the shit out of me sometimes. Whatever it is we have—it's special, and you know how people in all those movies and books always talk about _the one,_ and those loves that not everyone gets to experience? That's the kind of shit we have going on. Everything I feel for you is so fucking intense and pure; it's the kind of thing that should turn into a legacy or whatever the word is.”

The next thing you know you're being tackled with a hug on the bed. You feel like you cant breathe, and you're not sure if it's from him hugging you so hard, or if its from your nerves and the feeling of your throat closing up from being too overwhelmed. Maybe it's from the rate your heart is beating at, or from the way you kind of want to cry out of happiness. Either or.

You almost don't hear him when he starts speaking, but the hand kind of cupping your face and brushing your hair (which you need to get cut) out of your face gives you a little warning; “Before I get started I want you to be aware that I'm about to throw some straight up cheese at you.”

You huff, and sneak in another kiss before he continues.

“Before we started doing anything, I guess, I never really thought I'd get to be happy and content with a relationship, you know? Like, I didn't really have a concept of how the romantic kind of love felt, because I never actually let myself experience it, but then _you_ pretty much destroyed everything I'd been telling myself.”

“I'm flattered.”

He bites your neck. (Not hard, though. It's just a nip.)

You bat at him.

“Let me talk, Brendon.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Anyways, look, I pretty much convinced myself that I was straight, and that if I tried hard enough, then I _could_ be. It's the ambitious business man in me, probably. Like, deep down, I _knew_ I was gay, but I figured since I was thirty, and since I was married, that it was too late for me to have a _life_ like this, to actually, _genuinely_ love someone the way you're supposed to when you're with someone.”

You're hit with the fact that he is still a preachy fuck.

“But then _you_ came along with your strong jawline and cheekbones fierce enough to kill a man, not to mention your _eyes,_ which are beautiful, by the way. God, you had me wrapped around your finger almost instantly, and let's be real, you still do. I can yell at people and be an absolute raving shit, I can be a cunt, and I can be overly stubborn and rude to people out of defense, but somehow your _presence_ just kind of—it makes me knock it the hell of immediately, and, Jesus, like Pete said, I'm a fuckin' pushover for you. You hold a lot of power in your queer hands.”

“You thought I looked good, even with my ugly haircut?”

“Even with your ugly haircut. I mean, I thought you were fuckin' adorable, but in hindsight, your hair was kind of bad.”

You pinch his arm. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. I seriously love you more than you could imagine. You should take your friends seriously when they tease you about me pretty much worshiping the ground you walk on, because they aren't wrong. I don't know if I ever told you, but, uh, you know that thing I call you in French?”

“Still haven't figured out what it means, because you always say it really weird.” You're grumbling at him a bit playfully, nudging him in the arm with your knuckles.

“I've been calling you my prince for almost four years, now.”

“Does that make you the king, then?” _God, he's so fucking_ sweet. _I'm going to get diabetes._

“No, because that would imply that I'm your father, and lord knows we've been over variations of that rumor enough times. If _you're_ a prince, then _I'm_ a prince, because we aren't kings yet.”

“Will you kill me if I start jokingly calling you Prince Charming on occasion?”

“I think I can let that one slide. Anyways, back to the story. I started falling in love with you almost immediately. Like, it was slow at first. Super slow, but then it was kind of just all at once. It started off with superficial things—how you looked, the way you kissed, etcetera, then I started to like, love the _other_ things. The way you talked, and how you always have an endless supply of topics to talk about; the way you always work your hardest and put one hundred percent of your effort into everything you do; the way you care for your friends, and how you're always willing to drop everything at the drop of a dime if it means you can help in any way that you can. You're just such a fucking _wonderful_ person.

“Not to mention that you're kind; since the day I met you, you've been nothing _but_ kind to me. You've kind of shown me what love is, and you've been really patient with me over the past five years. I dunno—you've just—you've just stuck by me, even through difficult shit, and I really, _really,_ appreciate it, and you, so much. I don't even know where I'm going with this anymore, but, long story short: You're awesome and I love you.”

You sniff a bit and wipe at your eyes, because, let's be real, you're _touched._ You're touched, and way too in love. He sits up, saying, “Hey, hey, don't cry. C'mere,” before pulling you off of your back and into his arms. _Why do I have to be so fuckin' emotional?_

 

You're stuck in the house with Dallon and your mother for three days, since that's what it takes for _someone_ to actually try clearing the six fucking feet of snow surrounding/sitting in your neighborhood.

 _Someone_ (your mother) takes a picture of the two of you sleeping on the couch under the warmest and heaviest blanket either of you own the first day, trying to stay warm, with your mother saying something about either of you being cute together and something else about love. Whatever it is, though, it makes you groan and hide your face.

 

You leave on the fourth of December for a job in England, and you get home around the tenth. After dropping Tyler off at his own house and making sure he actually gets inside alright, you go to _your_ house. It's midnight when you walk in through the garage, and you're surprised to see some of the lights on. _He's like a grandpa. Shouldn't he be in bed by now?_

Apparently Dallon didn't hear you come in, because when you step into the kitchen to get a bottle of water, he pretty much just fucking _screams, “Motherfucker!_ Say something, you _asshole._ You scared the shit out of me.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “I came in through the garage, dude. I'm surprised you didn't hear me.”

“You've lived here for like, four and a half years. You should know that _every single room_ is basically sound proof and you can't hear shit unless you're yelling from the balcony upstairs.”

“I'm still used to _not_ having soundproof rooms. Why are you even up?”

“Couldn't sleep plus I was waiting for you to get home. Also I wanted potato chips.” He waves his arm in the general direction of the bag of chips that he _forgot to close._ You throw him a dirty look as you clip the bag shut.

“Why were you waiting for me? Usually you're in bed by now.” You're climbing to sit on top of the counter next to where he's standing so you can be just about eye level with him. The counter gives you those extra precious six inches.

He mutters a quiet 'I missed you' that you almost miss.

You're exhausted, sure, but that doesn't stop you from being a bit of a smart ass and trying not to smile as you say, “Pardon? I didn't hear you?”

“You did too hear me.”

“No, I didn't.”

“I missed you, alright?”

You allow yourself to grin this time. “Prove it.”

He gives you the most pitiful and smallest kiss _ever._

“You can do better than that.”

The next one is a little longer, and he even puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Y'know, I'm still not quite convinced.”

He sighs, and lets out a quick 'oh my god' before rolling his eyes, putting a hand behind your head, and pretty much just assaulting you on all fronts with a kiss.

You manage to say, “Alright, alright, I get it now,” between kisses and small bouts of laughter. Once you get him to calm the fuck down with the kisses, you ask, “Do you think you could rub my back?”

Then _he_ asks, “You angling for some sex?”

You give him a bored look. “I've been awake for eighteen hours and I just spent the past eight or nine hours in the same position on an airplane. I am sore. I am not angling for your dick in my ass, or mine in yours.”

He shrugs. “Look, I have ten years of fucking my brains out to make up for, alright? Do you _know_ how long I went without screwing around with a guy? Like, when I met you, it'd been _at least_ five years, if not longer.”

“Is that why you jump me at every chance you get?”

“Probably. Also, you're never home, and there's only so much my hand can do.”

“I have a _job,_ thank you very much, and so do you.”

“I'm also home alone at least sixty percent of the year.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up and rub my fuckin' back, Dallon.”

 

You manage to squeeze in a good eight hours of sleep. You wake up in a shitty mood, though, and you can't figure out what it is until you're in the bathroom getting ready for your daily shower. You get one look at yourself in the mirror and you want to vomit.

Logically, you know you look perfectly fine. You're an average height, and although you're underweight, like, extremely underweight, your body, at least, is still objectively attractive. Of course, that's not what you see. It's not like you're hallucinating or anything, because you see what everyone else sees, but you just—you perceive it differently, you guess.

You stand there for ten minutes, pinching at your arms, your stomach, your sides, your thighs, and any other part of your body you can reach, making a mental checklist of your 'problem areas.' You haven't had a day like this in a few months, mostly since you've gotten good at avoiding mirrors or avoiding even thinking about your appearance. You absolutely fucking _despise_ days like this.

They always happen when you're alone, and you're not around your friends or your boyfriend/partner. (You're still trying to transition into using the word partner, but it still feels a little weird.) You get stuck in your head, in this vicious cycle of putting yourself down and in general just giving yourself a hard time, and it just fucking _sucks._

You hate the mentality that people have, thinking that having a _boyfriend_ or a _girlfriend_ will suddenly fix your problem, and that they'll be able to pick up the pieces, but that couldn't be further from the truth. It helps, of course, having someone who loves you unconditionally and someone who supports you through whatever bullshit you go through, but a relationship isn't the end-all-be-all of mental health, and it's unhealthy to think that it is.

You haven't ever really been one for romantic fantasies of what life is like, or what it's like to be miserable. Life isn't some fucking Lifetime movie. The shit you go through—the depression, the anxiety, the body image issues you deal with—it's not beautiful, it's not _fun,_ and it just—it shouldn't be romanticized. It really shouldn't.

Of course, the stigmas kill you as well. You're not _broken._ You're a whole person. Sure, you feel fucking miserable, especially today, but you're not _broken._ There isn't anything wrong with being or feeling broken, but you know you're not. Depression doesn't equal _broken._

You hate how people think that if you're depressed, or if you have anxiety or an eating disorder, it consumes your _whole_ life, and that it's all you think about. At least in your case, most everything _wrong_ with you tends to be on the back burner. You have priorities, and you have shit to do. You can't let them bug you, right? You're an _adult._

You also _really_ hate how people are shamed for being depressed. There's nothing _wrong_ with it; no one can help being depressed. You'd try talking about it, but you _know_ you'd get a ton of shit thrown at you, like, “You're rich and you're white; you can't be depressed.” Like, depression doesn't just fucking pick and choose who it affects. (Of course, certain people are more susceptible to it, and race, along with wealth, can definitely affect it.)

You're afraid to reach out for help, and, ironically enough, in your opinion, it's kind of like being an addict or an alcoholic—the first step is admitting you have a problem, which you haven't done. You know you do, you know, but you haven't said it, nor have you specifically _thought_ about it. It's been suggested, you've had friends, and even Dallon him-goddamn-self tell you that you need/should get help, but no, you're fine, you have your shit together, right? You're almost twenty-five. There's no way you can possibly _not_ have your shit together.

Once you're back in the real world, and not spacing out while thinking about a bunch of shit, you're still left with the _mirror,_ and what you see. You pretty much have to force yourself into the shower, to quit _looking_ at yourself. You're a little late though, you assume, since it takes every single fiber of your being not to break down crying in the middle of your shower. _I'm not afraid to cry, but I'm not crying in the fucking shower. This isn't a movie._

Why do you want to cry? Who knows. Actually, you do know. Of course you do. No matter how hard you fucking _try_ to come to terms with your body, or to try being healthy or whatever, you _can't._ It's fucking disheartening and you feel hopeless when you think about it.

While you're rinsing body wash off of, you know, _your body,_ you end up pretty much rubbing your skin raw, and scratching at your skin as well. Now, _this,_ you actually don't know why you do. You just—you feel like there's some _presence_ crawling on you, and that you're in danger for whatever fucking reason.

Your skin burns when you step out of the shower, and you kind of wince on your way back to the bedroom. You figure you're going to have a rash, or that your skin will end up being red and splotchy all over until it heals, and _Dallon_ is going to question you. Jesus—what do you even _say?_

_“_ _Hey, I was freaking out and trying not to have a panic attack so I fucked the skin on my shoulders, arms, and chest up. No biggie.”_

_Ugh._

You stare at your side of the closet for a good five minutes or so before saying, “Fuck it,” and stealing one of Dallon's shirts. It's the one shirt that's too big for him, meaning you're practically _swimming_ in it. You'd probably wear boxers if it wasn't, like, ten degrees outside. The one pair of (too big) leggings you own, though? Definitely warm enough.

 

 **Brendon:** I stole one of your t-shirts

 **Dallon:** which one

 **Brendon:** the plain white one

 **Brendon:** I guess it's a……..

 **Dallon:** don't you do it

 **Brendon:** plain white t

 **Dallon:** you're dead to me

 

Feeling like shit? Definitely the best choice is to just lay in bed, wrapped up in a ridiculously cozy duvet, watching a shitty sitcom on your phone. Alright, alright, you haven't taken a day just to chill and _not_ do anything (at home, at least) in _months,_ so today was as good a day as any to not do a thing.

You end up falling asleep at some point, because you find yourself jerking awake when the bed dips suddenly and you're told to share the blankets. “The fuck are you doing home?”

“Trading was halted for the day and I'm not in a good mood. Why are _you_ still in _bed_?”

“I'm in a shitty mood and napping seemed like a viable option.”

“Fair enough.”

“Why was trading halted?” You ask as you scoot closer to him to pull your usual move of leeching heat.

He goes on a long-winded rant, half of which you don't even understand, given you're not a stock broker and that you have zero experience in that industry in the first place.

“At least you're off of work for the next three weeks?” You try, pathetically.

“Not really. I have to go on a _business trip_ between the twenty-eighth and the thirtieth.”

You groan. “Stay home. Pay attention to me.”

He huffs and tugs you a bit closer. “As much as I'd love to, I still have a job.”

 

“Seriously? You've never baked cookies before?”

“Breezy always did all the cooking and baking. I haven't had the chance.” He's quick to defend himself.

You tap your foot on the tiled floor of the kitchen. “And we've been together for almost five years. You have had _plenty_ of chances.”

“I can make cake and brownies. That's it.”

“Yeah, because you can buy it in a box. We're making these from scratch.”

He grumbles for a second. “Why can't we just buy cookies?”

“Because it's more fun to bake them ourselves, and I am fucking _spectacular_ at baking cookies. Plus, you need to learn. You're thirty-four. You should know how to bake cookies by now.” You click your tongue at him a few times, then gasp dramatically as he flicks a tablespoon full of flour at you. “Don't start a fight you can't win.”

“Who says I can't win?” He has a gleam of challenge in his eye, and, oh boy, he's just fuckin' asking for it.

“I did.” You have a hand on your hip now, and you're pointing a wooden spoon at him. “I have a bowl of cookie dough. Don't test me. I can make your life a living hell.”

“And I have eggs and flour. I can make your life an even worse hell.”

“You wouldn't _dare.”_

“To use one of your favorite quotes; don't test me.”

And that's when you flick a small spoonful of dough at him, hitting him in the cheek. He slowly and very deliberately wipes his cheek off, before placing his dough covered palm on _your_ cheek. Ten minutes later finds the two of you covered just about head to toe in dough, eggs, and flour. It also happens to be another one of those times when Tyler just pops in without warning.

You and Dallon watch him, silently, not quite sure what to say, as he slowly walks over to the fridge, eyes never leaving the two of you, as he grabs leftover spaghetti and a bottle of water. “… Did I walk in on some weird role-play?”

“Lovers' quarrel,” Dallon responds before he can stop himself.

Tyler just mutters something in Arabic before grabbing a fork and leaving the kitchen.

 

Once you're cleaned up, and once you actually have the first batch of cookies in the oven, you ask Tyler why he's at your house. “I'm bored and Josh is in a pissy mood.”

“Why do you always come here?”

“You're the only person who'll let me eat leftovers and watch TV in peace _._ ”

You make an 'o' shape with your mouth before sitting on the other end of the couch. (A vague thought of 'where the hell did Dallon go' goes through your mind. You figured he'd follow you around the house, but, nope, he's nowhere to be seen.)

 

 

It's been, what, five years? It's been about five years, yet Brendon's mother still intimidates the fucking shit out of you. She's a nice lady, and she treats you as if you're her son, but she's stern and you know if you even mildly upset her son and she were to catch wind of it, she'd have your head, not to mention your balls, on a silver platter.

So, essentially, she's scary, but here you are, getting ready to ask for her blessing. You thank the lord Brendon actually believed your spiel about a 'business' trip, and that he isn't suspecting anything. You don't even know _how_ you're going to ask him to marry you, but you figure the first step is, _y'know,_ asking for his mother's blessing.

The minute the question leaves your mouth, and after your proclamation of love for her son, she's grinning, nodding, and giving you her blessing. You breathe a huge sigh of relief.

 

 

Surprisingly, over the course of nearly five years, you never had the chance to actually see Dallon's work place. It's definitely not what you imagined. It's a sensible building—four stories, nothing majorly fancy—just enough for what he does.

Today, apparently, was an important day. He has a meeting, like, a _very_ important meeting, and today also happened to be the one day he forgot to grab his laptop and his paperwork. He didn't have time to drive back to the house to retrieve his forgotten items, so, that left him with _you._

You had to _get up,_ get _dressed,_ drive _all the way_ to where he works, then you had to deal with a grumpy receptionist. _I better get one hell of a blow job for this._ It was a little comical at first, a least to you; “I can't let you see him without an appointment.”

You try arguing, using the, “I'm his _partner;_ we've been together for five years,” excuse, but she persists. _Fine. Two can play at that game._

 

 **Brendon:** is dallon in a meeting or anything

 **Pete:** no he's pacing around the office and annoying the shit out of everyone

 **Brendon:** so it's safe if I call his phone

 **Pete:** _please_ call him he's being VERY annoying

 

The phone rings twice before he answers it. “I have your laptop and your paperwork, but your _receptionist,”_ you give her a dirty look as you say that, “won't let me actually give them to you.”

You hear him curse under his breath before he hangs up on you. _Christ. Someone's in a pissy mood._ He pops up a few minutes later and reams the receptionist for another few minutes before you're being pulled into a quick hug and being thanked. “Hey—uh—do you want coffee or anything?” He's jerking a thumb towards the door he'd walked out of, and you shrug nonchalantly, trying not to come off as too eager.

“Sure. I didn't really have a chance to make myself some before _someone_ woke me up.” You cast him a faux-dirty look, which earns you an eye roll and a stuck out tongue. _Nerd._

As you follow him, he bumps you in the arm with his elbow. “Also using this as an excuse to show off and give you a tour.”

_Snort._

“First floor—accounting and HR, along with a break room. Which is where we are headed.” The break room doesn't surprise you. It's a pretty big room with a few tables and a couch, along with a coffee machine and a microwave. And a TV. There's a TV in the break room.

“Why do you have a TV in here?” You've seen a few break rooms, but you've never seen one as _nice_ as this one.

“...So people can watch TV while they're on their break? I'm a nice guy. I like my employees to have a good experience.” He has a hand over his heart, gasping a little dramatically at you. “I also like to buy their loyalty.”

You roll your eyes at him again. “You promised me coffee. Hop to.”

“It's not the best coffee. Just warning you.”

“Dump a bunch of sugar and creamer in it so I can't tell, then.”

“Why do you assume I'm making it for you?”

“You're the one who offered. You're also the one who works here. Treat me.”

He calls you something in French, which you don't catch, but you lightly kick his leg. “Hey, hey, this suit costs more than you can imagine. Don't touch my leg with your dirty shoe.”

“ _Excuse you,_ but my shoes aren't dirty.”

“They're the only shoes you wear. They're dirty.”

 

By the second floor, you have coffee in one hand, and a doughnut in the other. You're taking your sweet time eating it, but the fact that you're eating it is something a little remarkable, so you figure that's a viable excuse. You've been trying to eat more, and for the most part, you're succeeding.

“This is where most of the trading and finagling goes down.” You nod before he leads the way around the floor.

“There's a lot of people here, Jeez.”

“Mhm. Most of the revenue comes from here.” His voice is a little hushed now, especially considering just about everyone is on the phone, trying to sell _something._ “Anyways, this floor is boring, and not at all interesting, so if you would, then please follow me.”

 _What the hell else am I going to do?_ Not _follow him?_

He doesn't bother actually stopping on the third floor, just saying that it contains a few conference rooms, and is used for business and faculty meetings. And _then_ the fourth floor happens. Okay, it's nothing too exciting, just 'administrative' offices, and his office, but you _do_ get to watch him get onto a few people for not actually doing their jobs properly.

His office is nice. It's pristine, organized, and pretty big. There's windows on one of the walls, meaning sunlight, and then there's probably the most comfortable fuckin' couch in the world pressed against the wall opposite of the windows. “So, feed my ego. Are you _impressed?”_

You shrug. “I guess. It's just—it's an office building.”

“I've spent _seven_ _years_ cultivating this place.”

“And I've spent seven years cultivating my award winning personality.”

He squints, and 'hmph's at you.

You end up sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, and you get maybe ten minutes to talk to him before Pete pokes his head into the room and says, “Uh, the guy is here. Conference room three. Also, hi Brendon.”

You wave a little awkwardly. Why are you awkward around Pete? Who knows. He has literally _no_ boundaries with anyone, and you've been around him enough to quit being surprised or shocked at anything _anyone_ has to say.

Dallon groans a bit as he stands up, grabbing a folder, and heading towards the door. You tail him until he gets to _his_ destination, then you make your way down (press a different button in the elevator) to the first floor.

 

_**February 1** _ _**st** _ _**, 2018** _

 

The first of February is the one guaranteed night you get to go on a date with Dallon. For obvious reasons. It's _basically_ (literally) an anniversary. It's a relatively normal night; fancy restaurant, decent food and even better wine, but he's acting _weird._ He's doing the fidgeting thing, meaning he _really_ wants to say something. You don't call him out on it, but you _are_ watching him like a hawk.

Of course, you watching him like a hawk _isn't_ in vain. After he's paid for the meal, he stops you about four feet away from the table. “What?” You're giving him an incredulous look. As lovely as the date was, and with as much as you love him, you're tired. You kind of just want to get home so you can take a shower and go to bed.

He shifts back and forth, and by now a few people are looking up, then _more_ people are looking up when he drops down on one knee and—oh Jesus fucking Christ—he's about to do it. You kind of just—you kind of just look at him, mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised super fucking high, and eyes widening more and more as he goes on a slightly long winded rant about feelings before _actually_ asking the _question._

 _Is he—is he fucking serious? Is this happening?_ You open and close your mouth a few times, before figuring out how to actually form the word 'yes' with your mouth. Everyone in the restaurant cheers, and you try not to die from having too many heart palpitations.

 

Things are fine for four moths and eleven days.

It's a Tuesday, and you get up about the time Dallon leaves for work, meaning you're up around six. He's gone for _maybe_ an hour or two (maybe three) before he's in the living room, kicking his shoes off, and snatching the remote away from you. You're still tired, so all you can do is let out a pitiful, “ _Hey!”_ _I was watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians. Millionaire or not, I still vicariously live through them._

“Shut up and watch the fucking news with me.”

He sits down next to you, leaned forward, with his elbows balanced on his knees. There's something on the Today Show about global warming right now, which causes you to sit up more, saying, “I know you're into recycling and all, but uh, I don't think this is worth coming home at nine in the morning for.”

You get a _look_ from him. “Do you really think I'd leave work if I was worried about global warming? Just wait a while. Something will come on.”

He's right. Something _does_ come on. “That—that has to be a hoax. It's 2018 for fucks sake.”

He doesn't say anything, because honestly, both of you know that it isn't a hoax. It's not really surprising. You're pretty sure this is his first time dealing with something like this, though. It's yours too, but you're not super shocked about it. _He_ is. He's shaken up and you can already see the stress in the way he carries himself.

You've seen enough hate crimes and bashings and whatever the fuck else over the past fifteen years that it's just—it's not shocking. It's sad that you aren't even shocked. It's fucked _up._

Essentially, here's the run down of what happened:

 

Across the United States, four thousand two hundred and eighty three people were killed at various gay clubs, gay bars, and even pride parades. New York was one of the cities that'd been hit. Just because you aren't shocked, though, doesn't mean you're not freaked the fuck out.

It's literally the biggest act of terrorism and the biggest hate crime in the history of the United States, especially considering it was orchestrated and premeditated beforehand, but you just _know_ it's going to be fucking downplayed and disregarded on the news. Pros of living in a mostly homophobic country, you guess.

You wrap your left arm around his shoulders and pull him closer to you, and the way he just complies without trying to reciprocate is a little scary. The two of you sit there in silence for a while, before he just whispers, “I'm scared. I didn't think shit like this actually happened.”

“It does. This is—this is definitely the worst I've seen, though.”

 

By the evening the usual crew, plus Patrick (who flies in from Los Angeles, which is a bit of a shock to the system), is sitting in the living room, still watching the news, and not saying a word. Tyler isn't making any remarks, which is a first, and Pete isn't trying to cheer everyone up with dumb jokes. Josh isn't dropping any sly, dry comments, you're not ignoring the news for once, and Dallon is holding you tight enough that you're surprised you can even breathe. Shit—Patrick has his head on Pete's shoulder, looking sick to his fucking stomach.

Everyone in the room (aside from Pete's girlfriend) is either gay (Dallon, Tyler, and Patrick) or bisexual (you, Josh, and Pete), and it's just—this shit is reason enough for everyone to be freaked out. Aside from the past Pete/Patrick drama, the seven (or eight, if you count the infant in the room) of you are a family, and this is just one of those times that everyone needs to be together.

It's just—everything is grim. You feel like your heart has stopped and all the air has rushed out of your lungs. At some point, you ask Pete's girlfriend if it's alright that you go out for a smoke, given the baby situation, and she just waves you off. You end up being followed by Dallon, Tyler, and Josh, and, this is irrelevant, but the four of you accidentally stand in a line from tallest to shortest. (Dallon, you, Josh, then Tyler.)

Similar to the situation in the living room, no one says anything.

 

Pete and his girlfriend go home around ten, but the other three adults decide to spend the night.

 

Dallon takes a few weeks off of work to give himself time to take a rain-check, and a few days after the 12th, you find him up at three in the morning, hunched over his laptop in the living room. “Why are you still up?”

“I'm—uh—I'm just doing a few things on the internet.”

“What kind of things?”

He frowns at his laptop for a second before just sighing, and looking up at you. “I'm on the GoFundMe website and I'm kind of donating a hundred grand to as many of the campaigns for like, families of the victims of the _thing_ as I can _._ I've gone through about five million so far.” He's kind of just muttering, and looking a little ashamed.

“I don't want to be a dick, but, uh, you can afford it, right?”

“I have four hundred in my bank account.”

Cue you choking on your spit, mostly at his nonchalance, and just out of outright _shock._

“I… didn't tell you.”

“Tell me _what?”_

“Made a few good investments and business deals recently, despite the economy.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Why do I even work anymore?”

“Because you wont swallow your pride and spend _my_ money because I have way fucking more than I know what to do with. Also, Tyler would be out of a job if you _didn't_ work, considering you're his most successful client.”

You just shake your head and sit down next to him to watch over his shoulder. Or, well, from against his shoulder. Same thing. “...You do realize you're not donating anonymously, right?” You ask after twenty minutes and five hundred grand later.

“… I… did not realize that.”

“Have fun dealing with every non-profit in the world.”

He nudges you with his elbow. “I'm just—look—I need to do something. I can't just _not_ do anything; I've spent too long sitting on my ass being too afraid to help people. I just feel like that because _I'm_ gay, that I have to look out for my own. I'm going to talk to my accountant tomorrow, and probably disregard his advice, because I—I'm probably going to donate quite a bit of money to a few non-profits that are trying to fight for more gun control and LGBT rights or whatever. _”_

“Can I donate any of my money?”

“I don't give a shit if you do. It's your money, so do what you want to do with it. I'm doing what I want with my money.”

“I'm getting my laptop then.”

 

Despite the June 12th incident, you still go to Pride in NYC. It's fun. You're in drag, and you look fucking amazing, if you're honest. Dallon is, also, in drag, and you laugh at him for about twenty minutes because he looks so awkward. He's tall, broad, and honestly, he's just a _man._ He was not made to be a drag queen, and you tell him that he was right; he makes an ugly girl. (You do have to threaten to withhold sex for six months, though, before he agrees.)

 

“The last time my balls were up this high I was thirteen,” Dallon's muttering as he grips your arm something fierce trying not to fall over in his heels. “Jesus fucking Christ—how do women, and _you,_ walk in these things? I'm going to break an ankle.”

“Quit complaining and walk with me. Today, we aren't boyfriends; we are _girlfriends_.”

“No, we're fiances.” He's a bit snippy with you when he replies, and it takes everything in you not to laugh at him some more.

 

The two of you stop in a fast food restaurant to get a drink, considering it's super fucking hot, and you're sweating enough that you're surprised the make up you're wearing hasn't washed off yet. Part of why you're in drag is so you're not recognized, because you're not in the mood to deal, and the other part of it is that you're trying to be festive. And give Dallon a hard time. Metaphorically and literally.

Of course, while the two of you are having an impromptu lunch date, the monthly dose of homophobia strikes again. It's another case of someone calling either of you fags, along with tranny, and good fucking lord, you have never been more pissed off. You turn around in your seat, and in the deepest voice that passes as normal and _not_ exaggerated, you tell the fucker to shut up lest he get a six inch heel stuck up his ass.

 

You've managed to go two weeks without seeing Pete, but the one time you _do_ see him, it's at pride, and you're walking hand in hand with your fiance wearing a fucking dress. You're not embarrassed, but rather dreading the fact that Pete will never let you live it down.

You _almost_ get past him before you feel a hand yanking at your bicep and forcing you to turn around to find him giving you the worst shit-eating look he's _ever_ given you. Dallon speaks before you get the chance to; “Not a word, or you're fucking fired.”

He just does the motion for zipping his lips shut before you tell him to walk with the two of you.

 

The newest photo you have of you and Dallon is by far the most iconic one. This is no surprise, but there's a group from some evangelical church picketing, so the two of you stop, shove a disposable camera into Pete's hands, and force him to take a picture of the two of you kissing and sticking middle fingers up at the group of picketers.

(Like you said, it's iconic, and it ends up being framed and placed on the slowly growing wall of iconic photos in the living room.)

 

“I've let you talk me into way too many things, but never again are you talking me into going outside in ninety degree weather in fucking _drag,”_ is the first thing out of Dallon's mouth the minute the two of you step into the house.

You just let out a low whistle, saying, “You would not like my career, then.”

You get a look from him as he balances himself against the wall next to the door so he can take his heels off. “I better get one hell of a blow job for the hell I've put my feet and dick through.”

 

You're leaned forward in the master bathroom, working on taking make up off of your face when _Dallon_ steps in to ask you if you want pizza, Chinese takeout, or if you'd like him to cook something. You make eye contact with him through the mirror, and you catch the _look_ on his face. Whatever it is you're doing is turning him on and he's not going to hear the end of it for a few days.

Of course, you act oblivious, and say, “Takeout,” before going back to getting make up off of your face with a make up wipe. He stands there a little longer than he needs to before shaking his head and walking out.


	23. A VERY BETA VERSION OF COSMETIC LOL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY BTA VERSION OF COSMETIC IM CRINGYING

You'd gotten a job at a Starbucks. When you look back on this, it sounds like some bad fan fiction, but hey, life kind of works that way sometimes. He had walked in, and your first thoughts had immediately been, _“Fuck. He's cute.”_

He places his order, and you ask for his name, so, you know, you can write it on the cup. He's confused until you're pointing at the cup, then he's saying, “Oh, shit, sorry, I'm fuckin' tired this morning. Dallon. My name.”

You're feeling a bit cheeky as you write your phone number on the cup as well. When he gets his drink, he's raising his eyebrows at you, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he sits at a window seat, and watches the people outside walk around.

Pete knocks into you with his hip, and winks at you. You feel your face go red as you get back to work. _Fuck off, Pete._

 

That night, when you get home to your shitty apartment, and after you've showered and planted yourself on your couch to use the internet, you get a text.

 

 **(xxx) xxx-xxxx:** hey, are you the kid who wrote his number on my coffee this morning?

 **Brendon:** Probably

 **Dallon:** you're a little presumptuous.

 **Brendon:** Well, what can a guy do? If I see a cute guy, I've gotta hit on him, you know?

 **Dallon:** seems reasonable.

 

You grin a little bit. This guy seems nice. You respond to him with a joke, and that leads the two of you into a conversation that lasts for nearly five hours. It probably would've lasted longer, but either of you had to go to bed. He's a stock broker, apparently, which you think if kind of cool.

 

Dallon shows up again the next day, and Pete's giving you a shit-eating look. While you're making Dallon's drink, the two of you pick up a decent conversation. Pete lets you take a break so you can sit with Dallon and chat with him more. Pete winks at you again when you take your apron off and when you follow Dallon to the window seat he'd been at yesterday.

Dallon's telling you a small story, and you're taking in his appearance. He's wearing a suit, and he looks damn fine in it. His hair is a little messy, and the sunshine that's filtering through the slightly dirty window is reflecting off of his blue eyes, and intensifying the color. The two of you talk for about fifteen minutes before he has to leave. On his way out, he squeezes your shoulder, and gives you a quick nod. _He's awkward. Lovely. I love awkward guys. Fuck._

 

About week later, you get a text. It's Friday, and the text is from Dallon.

 

 **Dallon:** hey guess what

 **Brendon:** What

 **Dallon:** I paid off my student loans yesterday :^)

 **Brendon:** Yo dude that's fucking sweet

 **Dallon:** u wanna go out for a drink

 **Dallon:** my treat, of course

 **Brendon:** hell yeah

 

And that's how you end up in a _really_ fancy restaurant with Dallon. You feel out of place. Everyone else is dressed in formal attire, yet you're there in your skinny jeans and a fucking flannel shirt. You tell Dallon about being embarrassed over that, and he just says, “Dude, you're fine. You might get a dirty look or two from some uptight business men, but most everyone probably won't care. They'll probably think you're some hipster or something.”

 

The meal goes good, and you get a little tipsy. Dallon calls you a cab, and rides with you, just to make sure you get home safe. It's… kind of sweet, if you're honest. He helps you up to your apartment, and when the two of you are standing outside of the door, he leans down, and then he's kissing you. It isn't a long kiss, but it wasn't overly short either. His cheeks are a little red when he pulls away.

 

 **Brendon:** Hey you know the cute stock broker guy

 **Pete:** the whole fucking world knows dude u never shut up abt him

 **Brendon:** fuck off I kissed him

 **Pete:** wow. a kiss. how……... extreme.

 **Brendon:** shut up it's not as if you're the one who didn't shut up for a week after kissing patrick

 **Pete:** y'know im gonna beat u up one day >:(

 

When you go to bed that night, you can't get the way Dallon's slightly chapped lips felt against yours out of your mind. It's pretty gay. Like, super fucking gay.

 

You're off on Saturdays, thank god. When you wake up, you have two texts from Dallon.

 

 **Dallon:** im sorry about kissing you

 **Dallon:** I think I was out of line

 **Brendon:** It's fine, don't worry about it

 **Brendon:** you might want to invest in some chapstick, though.

 

Your day is a little boring. You text Dallon and Pete throughout the day, and you go grocery shopping. You don't have a lot of money, and you're only able to pick up a crate of strawberries, a pack of baby carrots, and like, five Lean Cuisines. You feel a little salty about your parents kicking you out, because hey, you miss decent food.

You're worried about starting college. You still have a few months until the semester starts. You need to pick your major, but you have no fucking clue what you actually want to major in. You've been thinking about English, but, honestly, that's the most stereotypical job you could fucking get. Maybe you should get a degree in business and learn how to invest in the stock market.

 

The first time the two of you fuck, its two weeks after the kiss. Long story short, he'd gone home with you, and although it wasn't planned, it happened. You're pretty sure either of you had intentions to just hang out, but your intentions change pretty quick when you notice the way his shirt fits around his torso, and the way his muscles move under his skin, and, yeah, okay, he's pretty hot.

He had just been looking at you, and saying something, probably making a snide comment about the show the two of you were watching, and he'd just _stopped_ mid-sentence. Something on his face kind of falters, and he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You reach over and put one of your hands behind his head and pull him into a kiss. He sighs, tilts his head a bit, and leans into it. He pulls away about an inch, and asks if he can keep kissing you. You respond by initiating another kiss, and, honestly, it's fun to kiss him. He's good at it, and you know you're not half bad either.

He puts a hand under your knee at some point, and pulls you onto his lap. He's a little hard, and you try to subtly roll your hips to tease him. He groans a little bit, so you do it again. You're being a little presumptuous, but, you take your shirt off, and, well, you're glad you did, because the way his hands are touching you… Basically, it's nice.

His shirt comes off pretty soon after, and you can't help but to stare. He's muscular. He's not buff, but he's toned, at the very least. He puts his hands on your hips, then they're on your thighs. He's tugging at the waistband of your jeans now, and looking you in the eyes to ask permission.

His hands are shaking a little as he unbuttons your jeans, and after they're unzipped, he kind of just stares, and you think he's trying to decide what to do. You climb off of him for a second, and just a second, to take your jeans off, before resuming your previous position on his lap. You're only in your underwear now, and he has his head back and his eyes closed. You're a little awkward, but you ask, “Is this like—you know—your first time with a dude?”

He shakes his head. “No. I fucked around with a couple of guys when I was in college. It's been a while, though.” His head comes back up from where it'd been on the back of the couch, and honestly, you're pretty sure he's staring at your dick. “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah.”

 

A month later, you've made a pretty good… friend out of Dallon. He's started leaving you ridiculous tips. Like, one hundred dollars ridiculous. You need the extra money, but you're so _flattered._ You feel like you don't deserve it, but you're at a point in your life that you'll take what you can get.

You learn that Dallon has a wife, and that he has a kid, over the course of the month. You don't condone cheating, you really don't, especially after the Ryan Incident Of 2008, but Dallon is good at kissing and his hands feel good when they're gripping your hair and sliding down your chest and your back to your hips and your thighs.

It's August at this point, and you're sprawled out on your futon when your door bell rings. When you open the door, Dallon is standing there, soaking wet, holding a bag of what you assume is Chinese take-out. “It's… raining.”

“I could tell. C'mon,” You lead the way into your apartment, telling him to close the door behind him as you grab a towel. He sets the food on the six foot stretch of counter space that separates the kitchen and the living room as if he lives here himself. It's a little endearing.

He says, “Thanks,” as you hand him the towel, and you wave him off. It's just common courtesy. When you get yourself re-situated on your shitty futon, he's asking which one you want first: Sweet and sour chicken, or rice. You go with rice.

He has a carton of lo-mein, and then he's sitting on the futon next to where you're half laying down. “How was work?” you ask around a mouthful of rice.

“It was there. Made hella commission for selling stocks.”

“How much do you even make from doing shit like that?”

“You really want to hear?” He's chewing slowly, and raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, dude. I make like two dollars above minimum wage, then whatever I get in tips. Let me fantasize.”

He chuckles. “Today, at least, I pulled roughly five grand out of my ass.”

And that's when you fucking choke on your rice. Once you're done with your coughing fit, you ask if he's serious, and he just nods.

“I'm a fucking spectacular stock broker, dude.”

“Wow, Jesus Christ. Want to be my sugar daddy?” You're mostly kidding. Mostly.

It's his turn to choke on his food from the sudden intake of breath he took before an attempt to laugh. You laugh at him, though, because he looks ridiculous. “I'd offer, but I'm not about that life. Not using you for sex then giving you money. It's like indirect prostitution.”

“Keep your money. I start college in a few weeks. Maybe I'll get a degree in something useful, who knows.”

“I'm assuming you don't know what you're majoring in.”

“Yep. I have no clue.”

“Engineering is a good one. So's science. I'd say English, but do you really want to be a fuckin' teacher?”

“God, no. Kids are cool and all, but I'm not dealing with them for upwards of ten hours a day. Now watch me, in four years I'll have a degree in English.”

Dallon snorts. “I'm surprised I made it through college. I had a few scholarships, but it still wasn't enough to pay for all of it.”

“I have a few, but they definitely won't cover everything. I have a little extra money right now, though, so if I can, I'm going to _try_ to avoid student loans.” He nods, and a few minutes of silence later, you say, “You know, we could be having an interesting conversation, but instead we're talking about fuckin' college.”

“College can be interesting, young one.”

You snort. “Yeah, how old are you, gramps?”

“Definitely not thirty.”

“By that, you mean you're thirty, don't you?” Your tone is monotonous, and you're giving him a flat look.

He nods sheepishly. “Sorry if that creeps you out.”

“I mean, I'm eighteen, so I'd figure it'd be weirder for you.” You shrug as you shovel more rice into your mouth.

He shrugs as well. “Not really. It doesn't feel weird.”

 

An hour of Chinese food and idle chatter later, you're sitting on his lap, as usual, eating up every single bit of attention that he's giving you through his kisses and the feather-light touch of his hands on your body. He's gentle, which, for some reason, surprised you at first. It's not like you're _not_ gentle, but you're a kid, and you're horny, so most of your sexual encounters are at least a _little_ desperate.

 

Pete flips you shit the next day when you show up with hickeys, which results in a series of middle fingers and fuck offs. Dallon pops in, the two of you chat, and he leaves you another big tip. That's just about how your weeks go. Pete cracks a joke about Dallon being a sugar daddy, and you seriously say, “We've talked about it, actually.”

Pete snorts caramel cappuccino through his nose, and you make fun of him for it.

 

A few months later when you go to check your bank account after buying textbooks, you, apparently, have an extra five thousand dollars. You're at work when you see this, and you throw your phone on the counter. One of Pete's friends, Josh, is covering for him that day, and in a fashion similar to Pete, he just looks up at you with raised eyebrows. “You alright, dude?”

“I had thirty dollars in my bank account—but—fuck, look at this.” You motion him over, and his jaw hits the fucking floor when he sees.

“What the hell, dude?”

And that's when Dallon walks in. He acts oblivious as he tells you his usual order, and pulls the money needed to pay for it, plus his usual tip, and you just slide your phone over to him. “Dallon, _what the fuck?_ ”

He shrugs, and acts like he doesn't know what you're talking about.

You frown, and make his usual order before pulling him aside. “Dallon, I can't accept this. That's way too fucking much money.”

“I make upwards of a million dollars a year after taxes.”

“Bullshit.”

“Do you want me to show you my pay stubs?” He's giving you a pointed look. “Consider it a gift, and buy yourself something nice.”

“I have to pay you back. This—it's a lot.”

 

You get an email just as you're about to walk into your apartment.

 

_**Dallon Weekes** _ [ _ **dlwks@aol.com** _ ](mailto:dlwks@aol.com)

**subject:** Explanation

 

I'm sorry about the money thing. You're a cool dude, and I don't know how to express affection properly other than shilling out a few Benjamins or some other fancy bullshit. I'm sorry if I'm out of line, or if I'm overstepping my bounds. To me, that really isn't that much money, because that's about what I make in a day, and I have a flimsy concept of how much money is actually worth.

Please don't worry about paying me back. It's not necessary. I'll leave you alone now.

 

_Dallon._

 

 _Cheeky fuck._ You sigh at your phone, and toss it onto the couch as you walk into your apartment. Your feet ache from walking around campus all evening, and your back is a little sore from your fucking textbooks. _I'm already making an extra twenty grand a year just from his damn tips, but_ five grand _out of nowhere? He's ridiculous._

You head straight to the bathroom and strip out of your clothes. You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your hair is a mess, and you're looking a little too skinny. You haven't had the time to take care of yourself, and you're just _exhausted._ You let out a yawn before climbing into your shower, and cringing at the shitty water pressure. You've lived here for about seven months, but you're still not used to the water pressure.

The warm water feels good, and you didn't realize your hands or your feet were even cold, but they start warming up considerably. When you're out of the shower, you respond to Dallon.

 

_**Brendon Urie** _ _ **[urielygay@outlook.com](mailto:urielygay@outlook.com) ** _

**subject:** Re: Explanation

 

I'm already making an extra twenty grand a year because of you, and a gift that's about a sixth of my wages, well, that's a lot and it's a little ridiculous. I don't even have anything I want to buy, anyways, so the money isn't much use to me. I appreciate the gesture, though, and I'm bad at handling gifts. I'm awkward, you're awkward, and this is a mess.

 

_Brendon._

 

PS: You don't have to leave me alone.

 

You get a text message from Dallon right as you sit down with a reheated slice of leftover pizza.

 

 **Dallon:** I got in a fight with my wife

 **Dallon:** she kicked me out of the house

 **Dallon:** can I come over or something

 **Brendon:** yeah; are you alright

 **Dallon:** kind of sorry

 

Dallon shows up half an hour later, and he looks like he's been crying, so you pull him down into a hug. The two of you hold it for a few minutes, before you detach yourself and invite him in. “It's dark.” That's his comment. He comments about it being dark.

“One of the bulbs are out, and I don't have a step stool,” comes your simple response. “Are you alright?”

He shrugs. You end up with him using your lap as a pillow. He doesn't say anything, but you can just _feel_ the sadness radiating from him. _The sun shouldn't be sad. It doesn't make sense._ You run your fingers through his hair, which is a little oily. Dallon's a big, lanky fucker, but he feels so _small_ right now. “Can I ask what the fight was about?”

“A ton of things. She kept picking at me for every single fucking thing, and I blew up, which I rarely do, but either of us said a bunch of hurtful things, and then she basically just told me to get the fuck out. I'm not even _mad._ I'm _sad.”_

“Shit happens, I guess. Dude, your hair is oily, and it's giving me flashbacks to my emo phase, so, uh, do you want to take a shower?”

“Do you not like my oily hair?”

“I probably have enough grease on my hand to make a batch of fries in a deep fryer.”

He snorts. “What do you have for shampoo? I don't care as long as it isn't White Rain or Suave.”

“Pantene.”

“Towels are in the last door to the left, right?”

“Yep.” He nods, and sits up at that. He wipes at his eyes, and squeezes your shoulder before getting up and heading to your bathroom. He shuffles his feet, looking as if he's dead tired, and you can honestly say you get him.

That night, no sex happens, which is a first. You're alright with it, though. It feels a touch too intimate, but you're nestled in between his arm and his side, the fingers of your right hand are intertwined with the fingers of his left hand, and they're resting on his stomach. Now, this is a little gay, but, it's his heartbeat that helps you fall asleep. It's like, a little gay. Just a little.

 

Dallon's alarm goes off around six, and you groan. You have to get up too, but his alarm is super fucking loud, and it scares the shit out of you. Dallon gets a kick to the shin, and he jerks awake. “Jesus, Brendon.” He leans over the side your bed and turns his alarm off, before flopping back down. He yawns, then asked if you slept well.

“Better than I have in a while. You?”

He shrugs. “I think I slept good. We'll see.”

You nod. “I need to go take a shower.”

“You want a ride to work?” He asks as he sits up.

“If you would.”

He yawns again, and gives you a thumbs up.

 

Work goes by like a breeze. Dallon comes back around noon for a drink, and leaves you his daily tip. Once Dallon leaves again, Pete kind of corners you. “Dude, did he seriously give you five thousand dollars?”

You see Josh sitting in a corner, sipping at what you assume is black coffee because he apparently doesn't have the time for creamer of sugar, so you raise your voice slightly as you say, “Thank you, Josh, for telling Pete about the money.”

He gives you a slight nod of the head.

“He did. There really isn't much to say about it.” You shrug, and Pete looks a little miffed, but he doesn't say anything else.

 

Another month and another five thousand dollars later, Dallon informs you that he filed for divorce, and that he'd moved out. He _buys_ a fucking _house_ in some well-to-do neighborhood, like, a neighborhood of mansions, and you almost asphyxiate when you see it. “Jesus, Dallon. You bought a _house?”_

A shrug. You get a fucking shrug. “Want a tour?”

The house he had bought was fucking huge. It's ridiculously fancy, and somehow, he could afford to have it _completely_ furnished. You're almost sad when you go back to your apartment that evening. Your shitty, small, cold apartment with shitty insulation.

 

Christmas is a weird time. Your parents, oddly enough, invite you home, but you're still bitter about being kicked out, so you politely decline the invitation. Pete invites you to a party, and knowing him, it's probably a shitty house party with loud music and copious amounts of booze. You do accept Dallon's little… offer. Well, it's not an offer, but he asks you if you want to hang out on Christmas after he's done exchanging gifts with his own family.

You go to his house around three in the afternoon. He texts you the pin to the gate, then tells you where he's keeping his spare key, because, apparently, he is feeling super lazy, and wants to make you do all of the work.

Dallon's sprawled out on his expensive couch in a wife beater and boxers. He has a bag of potato chips with him, and he's watching some shitty Christmas movie on Netflix. He looks fucking adorable when he pokes his head over the back of the couch to see who it is. He's even more adorable when he sticks his arms out and motions for you to come over there and give him a kiss. He is a grown ass man, and it befuddles you as to how he's _adorable._

He puts his large hands on the sides of your head as he pulls you down. You giggle like a school girl after the kiss, and you internally mock yourself. Dallon has a grin of sunshine spreading across his face, and it's contagious.

The two of you spend the afternoon and the better part of the evening cuddled up on his couch watching movies, making snide comments here and there, and sharing gentle kisses. It literally makes your heart flutter, and man, you hate it. Actually, you love it, but you're a little flustered.

 

Dallon gives you a few presents. One of them is a _really_ expensive jacket, and the other one is a pair of also really expensive ear buds, since you complained _one time_ about the ones you already had not being the best.

You'd gotten him a card with a slightly heartfelt note. You toned the note down, though, since you weren't quite sure on your relationship status with him.

 

_The past six months have been some of the best months of my life. I enjoy your company, and also the sex is gr8 so thanks. You're a cool dude._

 

_-Bren_

 

“Uh, sorry. I—I didn't really know what to get you. Is the card alright?”

“Dude, hell yeah.” He looks so genuinely excited about the card, and its so _endearing._

“I'll get you something better on your birthday.”

“Don't sweat it.”

 

The two of you end up sitting on the couch, with you on his lap, mostly since you're too short to reach him _without_ being on his lap, and kissing. It's nothing heated, but rather it's sweet and actually pretty romantic. Dallon is filled with smiles and a few little bouts of sunshine filled laughter, and by association, you are too.

At some point, he asks, “Hey, can I take you on a date around the third or fourth?” His cheeks are a little red, and he's _nervous._

You raise your eyebrows, trying to subtly tease him. “Obviously.”

“Well,” he kisses you on the lips really quick, “I'm going to treat you to a _fabulous_ night out, then.” He kisses you again, then the two of you start laughing pretty fuckin' hard because you snort at how corny he sounded.

 

On new years, you're at Dallon's again. It's not an exciting night, but you get to kiss him when the ball drops, and it's actually pretty nice.

 

On the third, Dallon shows up at your apartment around seven in the morning. You're grumbling as you open the door and invite him inside. He has a suit with him, and he tells you to change into it and to make sure it fits. You ask him why, and he says that he's taking you to a restaurant that _literally_ requires formal attire.

The suit fits perfectly, surprisingly. “Why can't we just go to an Olive Garden?”

“I'm rich and I have standards,” comes his blunt response. For the millionth time, you roll your eyes at him. “Dude, I need to go get groceries, and you should come with me.”

“Why?”

“I'm bad at grocery shopping. Uh, my wife, or ex I guess, did most of the shopping, so I have literally no clue on how to provide for myself.”

“I've been living on my own for about eight months, so I _guess_ I'm at least a little talented in the art of shopping.”

 

You're a little surprised when he takes you to a Walmart instead of something fancier. You're also a little surprised that he holds your hand as the two of you walk through the store and pick out things to buy. There's a few people who give the two of you dirty looks, but Dallon has a glare so fierce that it could make milk curdle on the spot.

 

The dinner, as promised, is fabulous.

You end up at his house that night. You literally hate this fucking term, you really do, but the two of you… _make love._ You are cringing very hard at that term. So hard. You are _gagging_ at the term. The two of you fuck sometimes, other times it's _that,_ and this time is one of those times.

You're not sure when it happened, but you're in love with him. You're not sure if the feeling is mutual, but you catch him looking at you when he thinks you're not paying attention, and you can see some sort of weird glint in his eyes when he's talking to you. He hasn't said that he loves you yet, but you've let it slip a few times, and generally when you let it slip, you find yourself being pulled into a kiss. You're kind of bothered that he hasn't said it yet, but you also don't want to be the guy who calls him out for it. It's not your place.

You think that he has to at least feel something, though. The way he acts—you don't act that way with someone you don't love, even if it's just platonic.

He's kind, too.

You'd had a discussion with him in November, and he offered to pay for your college. He's constantly getting you gifts, and he kind of acts like a doting b—well, you know. You don't want to say it yet. He shows up at your apartment sometimes with take out, or a pizza, or some other type of food, and then the two of you spend the night, or evening, watching a TV show or a movie. He uses whatever excuse he can to kiss you, and well, that's pretty gay, to be honest.

He's hesitant in how he acts sometimes. He's told you before that he's not really used to the whole “I'm gay” thing, and you understand that. You were raised in a religious household, and you dealt with a few things when you were going through your sexuality crisis. Hey, you even got kicked out just before you turned eighteen, so, yeah, you definitely get it.

 

Mid-January is a shitty time. You'd been walking to the parking garage where you kept your car during the day from the Starbucks you work at just as it's getting dark, when you get jumped by a group of people. Essentially, you crack a few rips, your nose gets broken, and you get a concussion. Oh, and your wrist is either sprained badly or it's broken as well. You'd heard a few slurs dropped when the whole ordeal was happening, so, officially, you're pretty sure you're the victim of a hate crime.

You call Dallon, and you're embarrassed since you're a fucking sobbing mess, but he shows up within ten minutes, curses, not at you, but just in general, and the next thing you know you're at an emergency room at some hospital you'd never really even heard of. The nurses and doctors are nice, and you're thankful. Once your wrist is in a temporary cast, which takes a good while, you talk to a few police officers.

The police officers don't act like they particularly believe you, so you end up just kind of shutting down and not answering them properly. Your ribs are sore and your head is throbbing; you don't have the time for homophobic pigs.

Luckily, you get to leave the hospital that night, probably around two in the morning. You thought Dallon was going to take you to your apartment, but when he takes a right at an intersection instead of a left, you learn that he isn't. You're thankful.

 

He makes you breakfast in the morning, and he's careful not to bump your nose when he goes in for a small, quick kiss.

 

You take a few weeks off of work, and the day you go back, well, it's a good day. At first. Pete's a little cautious around you, and you don't make any of the orders yourself, but it isn't a bad day. Things go sour around closing, though. Pete leaves early, which leaves you alone in the little coffee shop to lock up. You barely get ten feet away from the Starbucks before you start, essentially, losing your damn mind.

You call Dallon, and ask him if he can give you a ride home or something (he goes with the 'something' option), your voice is wobbly while you're on the phone, and you totally weren't crying. (You were.) He's soft when he gets there. Like, gentle. That's what you mean. He's gentle. His voice is gentle, and the hand he puts on your back is gentle.

At his house, after seeing your horribly oily hair, he helps you put a plastic bag into place over your cast so you can shower, and he helps you wash your hair, your chest/stomach area, and your back. It's a little awkward, but it's kind of sweet in a way. Sleeping is also little awkward given that you have a cast, and that you can't really lay in your regular position due to your ribs and your nose. You still end up practically laying on Dallon, though. You're a cuddler and cuddlers cant be choosers.

(You wake up for a few minutes when Dallon gets up to get ready for work, but he just tells you to go back to sleep, because, apparently, he had called Pete, and Pete said he'd drive you back to Dallon's house him damn self if you showed up.)

 

You end up having to take cabs home, or to Dallon's house, each day. It's expensive, and probably not worth it, but it has to be done. You can't handle walking down that fucking stretch of sidewalk. You could probably park your car somewhere else, but you just—you can't. Dallon starts showing up at your apartment a lot more, usually with food.

You sleep on him a lot. He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, you think he kind of likes it, as creepy as it sounds. He doesn't mind the clinginess.

 

On Valentine's day, the two of you go out on a date. Similar to the four other dates you'd been on with him, this one is pleasant.

When you get to his house, like, as soon as the front door is shut, you're pressed against the wall to the left of the door, and he's kissing you just a touch too rough. You're not complaining, of course. You're just about as rough when you kiss him back. The sex that night is fucking fantastic, and you're _exhausted_ when you wake up for work the next morning.

 

At work, Pete notices that you're walking just a little funny, and as soon as he sees a hickey, he's starting up a round of straight white-boy war cries (despite the fact that he isn't straight, nor is he white), congratulating you on the sex, and flipping you shit. You're a little flustered, and you choose to ignore him in favor of doing your job.

 

March goes by pretty smoothly. You get your cast off in the middle of it, and you're so fucking thankful. April comes along, and around the eighth, you kind of have to catch a flight to Las Vegas since it's near your birthday, and your family really wants to see you. The thing is, though, Dallon _kind of_ comes with you.

Your parents are a little… critical of him, to say the least. The two of you get sat down on your parents' really fucking uncomfortable couch while being questioned. Thoroughly.

Relationship status? Boyfriends, apparently.

Dallon's age? Thirty. (Your parents gasp, sharply, and give the two of you dirty looks.)

They think he's too old for you, obviously, and you figure from an outside point of view, you can understand how they feel that way, but you just cross your arms, and give them a defiant look as you say, “I love him, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

What does Dallon do for a living? Stock broker.

Salary? Does he own a house? He shows them pay stubs, and informs them that last year, he made roughly four million, after taxes, and that, yes, he owns a house. He's well off. (Your parents pretty much choke at this one.)

Brendon, are you using him for the money? No, you're not. You couldn't give two shits about the money. You'd love him just the same if he wasn't fucking loaded.

Is he good to you? Yes.

Are you good to him? You think so, yeah. Dallon says you are, at least.

Do you have a job? You still work at a Starbucks. You'd quit, but you need something to do during the day.

Are you in school? You're taking a break this semester. You explain the hate crime incident, and for whatever reason, they aren't too fazed by it.

 

On your birthday, a few of your friends from high school show up. Spencer's the one you care about the most, and you introduce him to Dallon. Immediately they get along, and you're glad. A few of your friends comment on the clothes you're wearing, saying, “How can you afford _Prada?”_

You brush them off, not really wanting to answer them. You let Dallon buy you clothes, and he's a little ridiculous, because he spends an _obscene_ amount of money on you.

 

You leave on the fourteenth, and on the thirteenth, your mother corners you and gives you a lecture about Dallon, and how he's too old for you, and how she doesn't think the relationship the two of you have is appropriate. You're nineteen, sure, but all you have to say is that it's none of her business. She doesn't like that response, which is to be expected, but hey, you're leaving the next day, so who gives a shit? You apparently have a boyfriend now and you're actually kind of happy, despite your worsening mental health.

On the flight back home, you're flying first class, with Dallon, of course, and there's literally no one else flying first class, so you ask a question. “Did you, like, you know, mean it when you said that, uh, we're like, you know,” you're making hand motions, trying to will the blush off of your face.

He looks up from the book he's reading with raised eyebrows. “Boyfriends? I mean, kind of. Depends on what you want from me, but I meant it.”

You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to gather your words, but he speaks again before you get the chance.

“Brendon, do you want to be my boyfriend?”

You cough, and in a voice that's an octave or two higher than normal, you say, “Yeah.” That's how you officially had your third boyfriend.

 

Meeting Dallon's ex-wife is super fucking awkward.

You were house sitting (by that you mean you totally didn't move in with him, and you totally weren't left alone for a week) late in May, since he was in New York for some business meeting. You had _just_ walked down stairs, and you were passing by the front door on your way to the kitchen to make yourself something to eat when the doorbell rings. You open the door, and you're a little confused when you see a beautiful lady standing there, looking a little shocked. You realize you're only wearing a pair of boxers and some shitty flannel pants. It's too late to back away now, though, because she's asking about Dallon. She has a child gripping her hand like a lifeline, and you think, _“Oh, shit, that's his kid,_ _and this lady is his ex._ _”_

“Uh, he's in New York. I'm house sitting.”

“Ah, alright. It'd explain why he's not answering his phone.” She sticks a hand out to you, and you shake it as she says, “I'm Dallon's ex-wife. Divorcee extraordinaire.”

“Brendon. Home-wrecker in training.” She chuckles a little bit, obviously not taking you seriously, nor realizing what you'd meant by that, before the two of you exchange goodbyes. _Well, that's fucking weird._

 

 **Brendon:** did you not tell ur wife you were going to new york because she showed up with ur kid (she's surprisingly pleasant)

 **Dallon:**...I might or might not have custody over the summer.

 **Brendon:** did you seriously forget about that

 **Dallon:** maybe

 **Dallon:** I get back in a few days

 **Brendon:** am I a dad now

 **Dallon:** no we arent married

 **Dallon:** yet

 **Brendon:** im not marrying you

 **Dallon:** rude :(

 

You roll your eyes at him. _I bet ten bucks he's avoiding his wife and that's why he didn't answer his phone._

 

The next week when his wife shows up again, you're in one of the living chairs in the living room, using your phone and sipping at a bottle of water. You praise the lord once Dallon opens the fucking door, because he'd been dicking around trying to look _perfect_ for _hours_ and you were getting just a little bit annoyed.

You hear his wife asking, in a hushed tone, why you're still there. You look over to see Dallon shifting awkwardly as he manages to get the following out: “He's my boyfriend and he kind of lives with me.”

You can see the realization wash over her face. “Oh.” She pulls Dallon outside, and you assume she's questioning him, because when Dallon comes back in, he looks a little scared.

 

Two hours later finds you baby sitting while Dallon runs a few errands. His kid… She's nice. You guess. You don't really like kids. You're good with them, sure, but you don't like them. She mostly just watches TV and asks you a few invasive questions in a signature childlike fashion.

She asks you what her mother means when she says Dallon's gay, and you just simply say, “He likes boys.” There isn't much more to say on that topic. It's literally as simple as that, and she's satisfied with the answer.

She asks if you're gay next.

“No. I'm what they call bisexual. I like boys _and_ girls.”

“That's so cool.” She fucking _admires_ that, and you really can't help but to grin.

 

You end up having to quit your job at Starbucks when Dallon takes a few months off of work to take care of his child, and to go on a vacation.

You spend the summer in Ibiza, and you get a pretty good tan. (You're a little surprised on how fast Dallon was able to get you a passport. Of course, though, flashing a wad of hundred dollar bills is pretty useful.) It's fun, and when August rolls around, you have the title of 'dad.' You roll with it, mostly since you find it a little funny.

Dallon looks happy when the three of you are back home. You didn't realize how stressed he'd been looking, but you notice the bags under his eyes are pretty much just gone, and he doesn't look exhausted. You notice the same changes in yourself as well, though. The vacation was needed.

 

When it's nearing the end of August, you're glad you quit your job, because it gives you more time to focus on school. You decide to work towards a masters in business administration. You _were_ going to go to a community college, but Dallon had immediately said, “No, you're not going to a community college. If you're going to college, and if I'm paying for it, you're going to a better school than that.”

You're not complaining, but, Jesus, he's fuckin' generous. Tuition costs a pretty penny, and even though you've spent the past approximately eight months living a _lavish_ lifestyle, you're still used to being dirt poor. One hundred bucks still feels like a lot to you, and you can't grasp how Dallon would probably use a hundred dollar bill as toilet paper if he had to.

You get your own bedroom at some point. You still liked sleeping in Dallon's bed, but you were up late sometimes doing homework, and you were afraid of waking him up from going to bed at two in the fucking morning.

 

You start having to be careful about who you hang out with. A few of your casual friends start trying to hit you up for money, and you immediately drop them. You're to the point you only trust about five people to _not_ do that to you. Pete still views you the same as he did back in May of last year, and Patrick's just a bit too much of an asshole to view you differently. He's a pessimistic son of a bitch, and he pretty much thinks everyone is equally horrible. You don't know why Pete loves him. Actually, you do. Despite being a bit of a dick and super negative, he's actually pretty nice.

You'd been friends with Spencer since elementary school, so he pretty much knows you inside out. You don't get to see him much, but you talk to him pretty frequently. He's probably the only person from home you actually _genuinely_ like.

There's a few other people, but Pete, Patrick, and Spencer are the most notable.

 

You spend Christmas with Dallon, his ex-wife, his _kid,_ his ex-wife's parents, _and_ Dallon's parents. There's a lot of people, and you're under a lot of pressure to seem perfect. This year you get Dallon three super fucking ugly sweaters, mostly as a joke, and you know full-well he's going to wear them until they're worn out, and you get him another card. The little note in it is _way_ more heartfelt than last year. He grins maniacally when he reads it.

You receive a pretty hefty check, with the instructions to treat yourself from Dallon. Dallon gets his kid a few toys, and some clothes, much to her dismay. You almost laugh when she opens the presents with clothes. She looks so disappointed.

Dallon's parents, similar to yours, are a little critical of the relationship, but unlike your parents, they don't have the gall to say anything too harsh about it. You do get the 'if you hurt him I'll kill you' talk from Dallon's dad, his mother, and his ex-wife. You didn't have any intentions of hurting him, so you think you're safe.

 

The day after Christmas, the two of you fly back to Las Vegas to spend a week with your parents. They seem a little more tolerant with Dallon this time, and you're thankful. You're able to be affectionate with him without them tossing you dirty looks, so you count that as a win.

You get a few small gifts from your parents, and you thank them. Even though you have a lot of pent up resentment towards them, you still appreciate the gesture, and you're thankful that they're at least a little more accepting.

You have a chat with Ryan while you're there, and, well, it's awkward. The only reason you talked to him was since Spencer, apparently, had been hanging out with him again. You do manage to somewhat rekindle the friendship you had with him, but as usual, you're still a little bitter about him breaking your heart that one time. He gets along with Dallon, and at this point you're not surprised, since almost _everyone_ gets along with Dallon.

This time, since you have more time (at least in your opinion), you take Dallon sight-seeing. You drag him to a few tourist attractions, and a few restaurants and stores you used to frequent. You're kind of excited about it, to be honest. He's genuinely interested in learning about your past (or childhood.)

You buy yourself and Dallon a few things during the three days the two of you spend sight-seeing. Dallon tries to decline the gifts, but you just press on, saying, “You're the one who gave me ten grand, dude. Take the fucking gifts.” He's grumbling a little bit, but he takes the gifts.

You feel like you're weird, but you don't spend money that much. You have a pretty decent amount of money in your bank account, but you rarely spend any. You're pretty sure most people would be shopping constantly, but you have a decent computer, Dallon's paying for your college, you have more than enough clothes and shoes, and you're relatively healthy, so you really don't have a whole lot to spend your money on.

 

You've known Dallon for a year and a half, and it's been about a year and a fourth of one since you'd accidentally dropped the 'I love you' bomb, but he hasn't said it back. It's nearing the end of February at this point, and you step into his office. He's wearing his reading glasses, and he's doing a bit of work on his laptop. He looks up to you, and waits for you to speak.

He looks good. Like, really good. You lean against the door frame with your arms crossed, and you stare him down, trying to work up the courage to say something.

“Brendon, are you alright?”

“Do you love me?”

The look on his face just says _'oh.'_ He furrows his eyebrows a bit, but says, “Yeah.”

“Then say it. I don't want to be an asshole, but _I've_ said it, and I've _meant it_ numerous times, _and_ we've kind of been a thing for a little over a year but you haven't said it yet.”

He gets up from his chair, and walks over to try and kiss you, but you shove him away.

“I don't want a fucking kiss, Dallon. _Answer me._ ” He doesn't answer you and, yeah, you're a little pissed. “Am I just a pretty face to you? A quick fuck or something along the lines of that?”

He frowns, then speaks, in a slightly raised voice; “Jesus fuck, Brendon. Do you seriously think that much of me? What the _fuck_ have I done to make you think that?”

“Every fucking time I express _any_ sort of concern about this, you give me money, or gifts, and I hate to break it to you, Dallon, but I'm not here for the _money._ I feel like you're just trying to buy my fucking love, but that's _not_ why I love you.” Your voice raises in volume as the last sentence goes on, and your voice starts wobbling a bit as well.

He gives you a pointed look, and sarcastically asks, “Oh? Yeah? Then _why_ do you love me?”

“ _Because you're my best friend!_ _You fucking listen to my bullshit, you don't_ judge _me, and you don't treat_ _me_ _like some fucking child!_ _Most of all,_ _you're a_ decent _fucking person!_ You're starting to change my mind, though, because you're being an _asshole_ right now _.”_ Cue the tears. You wipe at your eyes, because, Jesus, now isn't the time to cry. You're shouting at him, and he's flinching as every sentence ends.

He gets a look of pure terror on his face, and his voice raises a few octaves when he says, “I fucked up.”

“ _Fuck yeah you did!”_

“Look, I love you, alright?”

“Fuck off. You're saying it out of guilt,” Comes your response as you stomp out of the room.

He grabs you arm and jerks you towards him. You get turned around until you're making painful eye contact. “If I didn't love you, you wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't have kept going to that fucking Starbucks, because, dude, I fucking _hate_ Starbucks. I wouldn't have showed up at your shitty little apartment with food just to hang out with you. If I didn't love you, then you would've just been another one night stand for me. Instead,” his voice gets a little pointed here, “you're a three hundred and sixty five night stand. Fuck—I divorced my _wife_ for you. This is just fucking _weird_ for me, because I was married for _ten years,_ and not _once_ have I felt like _this._ ”

You're a bit cheeky, but you're also keeping up the pissed off act when you respond. “Like _what?”_

“Oh, for fuck's sake, Brendon—” he throws his arms into the air, “— _I'm in love you with you!”_

You drop the pissed off act pretty quickly after that. “This is like a bad romantic comedy.”

His jaw drops a bit, and he blinks at you, and the two of you maintain eye contact for maybe ten seconds before erupting into laughter. Okay, maybe this fight was a little stupid, and _maybe_ you were overreacting, but, hey, the make-up sex is fucking amazing.

 

In the middle of March, Forbes does an article about Dallon, and a bunch of fucking photographers are in the house, and you're dressed up, since you're, basically, his trophy wife. (Or you are in their eyes, at least. You're young and moderately attractive and you're in a relationship with an older man.)

You pose for the pictures with Dallon, a grin on your face while you're at it. Once Dallon has shooed a slew of photographers and reporters out of the house, he immediately peels his suit off. “I fucking hate when Forbes comes knocking. They've done two other articles, and every single god damn time it's a nightmare. I need the publicity and all, but Jesus Christ.”

“Is this a regular thing?”

“Kind of, yeah. Um, I've like, things have been going _really_ good for me, as far as business goes, so don't be surprised if after this article we get invited to a bunch of high-end parties and award shows.” He's grumbling, and eventually he's into his boxers. “I hate suits.”

“You wear them, like, almost everyday.”

He rolls his eyes. “I still hate them. You want to order a pizza or something?”

You know you don't have a choice on the pizza topic, since he's already walking towards the land line to dial the number to the nearest Pizza Hut. “Yeah.”

 

While the two of you wait for the pizza to arrive, you take the chance to get changed. Dallon was in the middle of talking about hiring a publicist when you decided to change, though, so he follows you to your room, and continues on his little rant while you get changed.

Once you're into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, you follow him back downstairs. “Why do you even need a publicist? I mean, I get that Forbes is a big magazine, but is that necessary?”

“My net worth is sitting at around two hundred and fifty million, and Forbes is well aware of this, as is a good amount of other people.” He says this. _Casually._

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Do you want to see my bank account?” He deadpans. “Jesus, I sell stocks for a living. I don't know why I have this much money.”

“You said you were fucking spectacular at it when we first met, dude. Talent can get you places.”

“True.”

 

The Forbes article comes out a few days after your birthday, and _that's_ when the two of you start getting invited to public events. Dallon did hire a publicist. She's nice, and you like her as a person. She's completely unfazed about Dallon, so immediately either of you have good vibes about her.

You're a bit surprised, but you're given a set of rules to follow in regards to going out in public. You have to dress nice, and if you go somewhere _shady_ or you do anything that could fuck up Dallon's reputation, you have to be super fucking sneaky about it. You're also instructed to avoid any reporters. “You're lucky both of you are out of the closet, or this would be that much harder.”

“Why me? Like, I'm not the one who's raking in upwards of ten million a year, if not more.” (Dallon gets a pointed look.) “I'm literally just trying to get a masters in business administration.”

“Good. That will sound good.” She's scribbling it down, and, wow, okay, you're a little shocked. “Look, I hate to say it, but basically, you're his trophy wife. Whatever you do is going to reflect on him, so you might as well, you know, be good.” She leans back in her office chair, and pretty much stares into your soul with her fucking blue eyes.

She's intimidating, and she _literally_ scares you just a little bit. She kind of reminds you of Snow White, what with the black hair, pale skin, and blood red lip stick. If you weren't super into Dallon, you'd probably have a thing for her.

Sarah Orzechowski is a little weird, but she's a nice person.

 

Okay, you're _seriously_ not used to having cameras flashing at you. Well, not you, but at Dallon. You're pretty much glued to his side, though, so they might as well be directed at you. Dallon grits out, “Smile, asshole,” when he notices you look like a deer in the headlights.

The event is so fucking boring. You end up spacing out for most of it, aside from asking Dallon questions once in a while, and sipping at the champagne you probably shouldn't be drinking, considering you're twenty.

 

Two weeks before Dallon turns thirty-two, Sarah's at the house again, and she's filling the two of you in on what's going to happen on his birthday. “ _You,”_ she points at you from her side of the kitchen table, “need a hair cut. Your hair is god-awful, and you _cannot_ go out in public like that. And _you_ ,” now she's pointing at Dallon, “Well, you're fine, but you should probably get your hair trimmed, and _maybe_ colored.

“Dallon, you're having a birthday party. I'd suggest renting out a venue, and inviting some well-known people. Brendon, you should invite some of your friends. Make sure they clean up good, though.”

 

At some point, you'd questioned Sarah as to why Dallon needs so much publicity, since he isn't an actor or a musical artist, and she just says its good for business, especially since he's dripping with sex appeal. “People like pretty people, and your boyfriend, well, he's on the cover of every major tabloid in the country, and you're there with him in probably about half of them.”

 

Dallon's birthday is surprisingly calm. You invite Pete, and he shows up with Patrick. They're both dressed up nicely, thank the lord. Pete's awestruck at all of the press and the _famous_ people. There's literally a bunch of celebrities there, and along with Pete, you're trying not to lose your shit. Patrick isn't showing any emotion, but he's watching everyone, and everything, with a sharp, critical gaze.

 

When summer rolls around, you're on your summer break from college, and Dallon has obtained his child for the next two and a half months. She's still calling you 'dad,' and you still find it funny. Dallon still gets flustered over it, and you generally just pat him on the back a bit, saying, “Shut up, dude, it's cute. Let the kid dream.”

The three of you don't go on a vacation that summer. Dallon's exhausted, and not really in the mood to travel, and you're interested in sleeping most of the day since you're exhausted as well.

In the middle of June, Sarah meets the kid. You'd been in the kitchen, making breakfast for yourself and his daughter, when Sarah had walked in. Sarah slowly walks into the kitchen, and you would've looked at her if you hadn't have flipped a pancake high into the air to impress the kid. “Brendon?”

“Yeah?”

“The two of you failed to mention the child.”

You curse under your breath, and the kid mimics you.

You're mortified, and you get on to her. “Do _not_ repeat after me when I swear.”

She's giggling, and she asks Sarah who she is.

Sarah apparently isn't in the mood to explain her job, so she just says, “I work for your dad,” and leaves it at that. She kneels down a little bit so she's eye level. “I'm Sarah.”

Sarah sticks her hand out, and Dallon's daughter shakes the hand enthusiastically and recites her own name.

 

After you've finished the pancakes, you ask Sarah if she wants to eat, and she politely accepts. The three of you sit at the table to, you know, _eat._ “Is Dallon at work?” Sarah asks around a mouthful of pancake.

You respond around your own mouthful of pancake. “Yeah. I'm basically in charge of baby-sitting during the week.”

“I'm not a baby!”

“You're six. You're basically an infant.”

You playfully bicker with the kid for a few minutes before she busts out the 'm' word. “You're a _meanie!_ I'm telling _dad!”_

Sarah has a hand over her mouth, and she's trying not to laugh. The kid hops down from the chair, and rushes over to one of the land lines to dial Dallon's number. You pick up plates and silverware and put them in the sink while she's busy with that.

 

 **Dallon:** are you being mean to my kid

 **Brendon:** no she is insisting she is an adult and im just simply informing her that, no, she is not an adult. she does not pay taxes.

 **Dallon:** well youre a meanie

 **Dallon:** and you dont pay taxes either

 **Brendon:** wanna fight me

 **Dallon:** no im breaking up w/you I cant date a meanie :/

 **Brendon:** no ur not u love me

 **Dallon:** true

 **Dallon:** I do

 **Brendon:** go back to work

 **Dallon:** lunch break dude

 **Brendon:** oh I forgot you had that

 **Brendon:** by the way sarah came over to talk about a few things but kinda requires both of us

 **Brendon:** she's about to leave because she has other clients obviously but

 **Brendon:** u know

 **Dallon:** alright man ill call her when I get home

 **Dallon:** my lunch break is over though so I will talk to you when I get home too

 **Brendon:** see you later dude

 

You are not equipped to deal with restless children. You aren't. You're twenty, and you're already low on energy. You don't have it in you to keep up with a six year old. You really, really don't.

You _especially_ don't have the energy when the kid jumps on your bed bright and fucking early on a Wednesday morning, pretty much yelling, “Dad! Wake up! I'm bored!”

_Maybe if I pretend to be asleep she'll go away._

Nope. That plan doesn't work. She sits next to you and _pulls your hair._ “Ow, Christ! I'm up, I'm up.” You're grumbling a bit, and the cheeky little shit is _laughing_ at you.

 

Once you're in the hall, you ask, “Is Dad home?”

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

You groan slightly when you see that it's only seven. Dallon normally leaves around 6:30, so you figure she hasn't been up for long. After you make breakfast, which is just cereal, for the two of you, and after you've had your coffee and morning shower, she asks, “Can we go see Frozen? Pretty _pretty_ please?” She basically has stars in her eyes, and, god damn it, you crack.

“If you take a bath and get dressed, then yeah, we can.”

 

 **Brendon:** I can take ur kid to go see frozen right

 **Dallon:** I dont see why not

 **Brendon:** ok bc I told her I would

 

Half an hour later you're dressed, and you've made your hair not look shitty, under indirect orders from Sarah. The kid, thank god, isn't dressed in anything overly tacky. She's bouncing on her feet while you check your phone to see airing times, and then she's whining a little bit because you text Dallon to ask him for permission to use one of his cars.

 

 **Dallon:** you dont even need to ask; go for it

 

You check to make sure you have your wallet, and you make a mental note to drop by an ATM to get some cash. You check your key ring to make sure you have the key for the house, and you have to go into the garage to get the keys for one of the cars, but once you're all set, you lead the kid to one of the cars and set off for a movie theater.

 

You plan to apologize to Dallon later, but, you buy a shit ton of candy to share with the kid, along with popcorn. The movie is cute, albeit, not really your thing, considering it was made for children, but she _adores_ it, and by association, you do too.

She's dead fucking tired when the movie ends for some weird child reason, so you end up carrying her out to the car out of sympathy. You're in the lobby of the theater throwing something away when an old lady stops and says, “Your daughter is _so_ adorable.”

Generally, you would've said, “She isn't my kid,” but you were literally carrying the kid on your hip, and she had her arms thrown around your neck, so, if you were to say that, the lady would've just scoffed, so instead, you say, “Uh, thank you, ma'am.”

The kid whispers, “Dad, can we get McDonald's?” into your ear, and the old lady just grins wider than before.

She asks about your _wife,_ and you laugh awkwardly, and say, “I have a husband, actually.”

She looks shocked, and you're internally cursing, because you _really_ don't want Dallon's kid to be exposed to homophobia quite yet.

Instead of a snide comment, or her trying to end the conversation and get away, you're faced with the following: “Well, this is just wonderful. It's been a good while since I've met a young gay couple. I'm getting just a little old, but you're the face of the future. When I met my wife, well, that was fifty years ago, and you know how things were in the sixties. Things have changed, and I know they'll just get better.”

You're… touched. You say as much, and she just laughs you off, and wishes you luck in life.

That's the story of how you met a seventy year old lesbian.

 

When you go back to school in the fall, everyone is staring, and some people are whispering. A few people ask if you're the boyfriend from Forbes, and from a few other places, and you desperately want to pretend like you're not, but _everyone_ in the school knows your name, so it's a little impossible.

You're a hot topic suddenly, and you don't like it. You suddenly have a bunch of new 'friends,' and it's really off-putting.

 

Dallon's pretty tame when it comes to sex in comparison to you. Honestly, it's because he's in his thirties, and you're still super young, so it isn't surprising. (It's not as if he's super old, though.) You appreciate the tameness, sometimes, especially if you're stressed. (As stereotypical as that is.)

Other times it's frustrating. You're not the most patient person. If you want something, you want it then and there. (Of course, with sex, that only applies as long as it's consensual.) The two of you don't get to have sex as much and you used to, because either you're too tired from school, he's too tired from work, or both, or either of you are too busy _and_ too tired. You're not bothered by it for the most part. 'Most part' being the key part of that sentence.

The relationship itself is going good, you think. It's taken him, literally, three fucking years, but he's starting loosen up emotionally, and isn't keeping things bottled up like he used to. You're not the most emotional person either, but, if something's bothering you, then you try to get it off of your chest as soon as possible.

At first, it was mostly about the sex and the friendship. You were friends with him, and for at least the first four months, you weren't naive enough as to think he had something for you. Hell, you didn't really even have anything for him other than a mild crush. Actually, you're a bitch-ass liar, but you'd like to _tell_ yourself you didn't have a thing for him.

As time went on and as his marriage with his wife started falling apart more than it already had, though, well, that's when you think _he_ started getting attached. You hated to admit it, but, he was having an affair, with you, and you hate to admit this part as well, but you were kind of glad when he'd told you the news of the divorce. Divorces suck and all, but at least you wouldn't have to hide your relationship with him from the world. (Not that either of you are into PDA, of course.)

The two of you maintain some level of intimacy. Like stated, it's not always sexual, and actually, most times it isn't, but you sleep in the same bed as him most nights, unless you're up super late doing homework, or the two of you have it out over something dumb. (Generally, both of you apologize pretty quickly, and it avoids quite a bit of trouble.)

There's a lot of kissing, hugging, and cuddling that goes on in the Weekes-Urie household. The two of you have to dial it down on the weekends and during breaks since that's when his daughter is around. He hadn't been too happy about the custody thing at first, but given how _busy_ he is, it made sense.

His kid looks at you like a father, and you don't have the heart to tell her otherwise, because she gives you the same look of admiration that she gives Dallon, and it's a little weird, but, as usual, you roll with it. This part is surprising, but his ex-wife _likes_ you. She thinks you're a good person, and that you're good for Dallon. You'd been expecting some raging and jealous woman, but, no, you weren't faced with that.

Your parents had realized that Dallon wasn't a fling, and they started believing you when you'd said you weren't in it for the money, and, well, that's nice. Like, really nice. They've kind of started accepting him into the family, albeit a little hesitantly. Dallon's family, or his parents, at least, liked you right off the bat, and they're wildly different from your parents, but, they were pretty accepting. They had the same concerns about the money thing, but it didn't take a whole lot to satiate them.

 

The two of you are free for Thanksgiving, and end up hosting a meal. Pete's there, and he shows up with baked goods and a boyfriend that _isn't_ Patrick. The kid seems nice, though, so you're not too bothered by it. Patrick shows up too, and you can sense the tension between him, Pete, and Pete's new boyfriend, but they don't start shit, so you don't say anything.

Dallon's ex-wife and his kid are there too. Pete pokes a little fun at you when the kid calls you 'dad' and you ignore him. You would've sworn at him, or flipped him off, but that would've hurt the kid's feelings, and you tried your best not to swear around her, since she had a knack of mimicking you.

Sarah shows up as well, since her family was in Michigan, and she didn't get the chance to fly home. Patrick and Pete both like her, and they kind of roll their eyes when she tells them that she's Dallon's publicist. “Mostly I just tell Brendon when he needs hair cuts, and I tell Dallon what not to do in public. Not really the most complicated job.”

There's a lot more to it than that, but Pete and Patrick still think it's super cool.

 

The house is finally empty around midnight, and you immediately flop down onto Dallon's bed. “I love them and all, but fuck, they're exhausting.”

He climbs into bed next to you, and turns the lamp off on his bedside table. “That's why I hate hosting.”

“Is this a bad time to tell you my parents want to come visit for Christmas?”

Cue the slightest of groans from Dallon before he's kissing your cheek. You chuckle at him and then fall asleep like, probably five minutes after that.

 

The next morning, you lay there on your back, staring at the ceiling, trying to urge yourself to get up. Dallon has an arm thrown over your chest, and he's still asleep. You know he'll wake up if you move, but he rarely gets to sleep for more than six hours, and you don't want to ruin that.

He looks pretty right now. The sun is hitting his face just right, and he looks so _peaceful_ right now. He's snoring a little bit, and his mouth is opened just the slightest bit. Along with the arm across your chest, he has one of his legs over yours, and his head is like, directly on top of your shoulder. It hits you for probably the millionth time, but, shit, you fucking love him.

 

During the beginning of December, Dallon has an interview on, and you're not even joking here, the Today Show, and _sadly,_ you have to be with him. It's some bullshit business bit, and they ask him a bunch of questions on what it's like to be so _young_ yet so successful, and you get asked about the age difference and what it's like being _married_ to him.

You correct them, because, you're not married to him. It's… normal? Being with him? Even when you were with Ryan when you were like, fifteen, it feels kind of like that, except you actually love him. You don't really get why the money thing should affect the relationship. Actually, you get it, but you think it's stupid and that it shouldn't even be a thing.

Dallon gets a few questions about being gay, and they ask about his wife and his child. He actually has a super intelligent response to the questions, and you knew he was smart, but you weren't expecting him to say what he did. “I've seen a few people, and by that, I mean a lot assumed I didn't love my ex-wife, and that's honestly the furthest thing to the truth. I did, and I'm glad I had a life and a child with her, but this, me being gay, that was just becoming too much of an issue for me to ignore, you know? My marriage was falling apart, and there wasn't a reason to stay in an unhappy and, quite frankly, an _unhealthy_ relationship.”

 

Pete calls you a few days later. “Brendon, why the fuck did I just see you on the Today Show?”

“Dallon's rich, and relatively young, and that's apparently a big thing.”

 

In February, Dallon takes you to France with him. He's there for a few days for business, then he's there for another week as a vacation. He's fluent in French, apparently, which you _did not_ know.

It's romantic, and two nights before the two of you are due back home, he takes you to, you guessed it, a fancy restaurant. It's a date, and it's like, a super good one. Like, ridiculously good. You're getting ready to get up to leave, but suddenly he's down on one knee, and Jesus Christ, he's about to propose to you. _You motherfucker. I literally cannot believe you._

The restaurant goes silent when Dallon gives you a little speech about feelings, and how he loves you, and then he's saying, “Will you marry me?”

You're _shocked._ Like, seriously shocked. It's not as if the two of you hadn't talked about it, and you knew that eventually you would end up marrying him anyways, but you didn't think twice about suddenly spending an extra unnecessary week in France. Dallon has a little box with a plain, silver engagement ring, or a wedding band, who knows and Jesus, this is so fucking corny. “Yes.”

You're officially engaged, and either of you are over the fucking moon.

 

Things go to shit in March. Your relationship with Dallon is fine, and nothing bad is happening as far as that goes, but his ex-wife gets sick. Like, rapidly spreading and metastasizing cancer and three weeks left to live sick. Dallon takes that month, and eventually the next month, off of work to talk to his wife about funeral arrangements, her will, and how to deal with breaking the news to his child.

You take a few weeks off of school to help Dallon with the kid, and just to act as emotional support. It's not a good time. You, obviously, weren't super close with his wife, but she'd grown on you, and you had a decent friendship with the woman.

The funeral is awkward, and his child basically attaches herself to your leg throughout the whole thing. Dallon's demeanor is cold and rather apathetic, and he sticks close to you, keeping a decent grip on your arm. Her parents and her siblings are there, as well as a few of her friends and a few of Dallon's friends. (Along with the awkward funeral, it gained a lot of public attention due to who Dallon is, and neither of you particularly appreciate the invasion of privacy.)

When the three of you get home, and changed out of funeral wear, everyone settles on the couch to watch some mind-numbing sitcom on Netflix. Dallon's daughter is sitting in his lap, and she falls asleep pretty quickly. You're leaning against him, head resting on his shoulder, after you've grabbed a blanket to drape around the three of you, of course. No one says anything, and the night is spent in silence, kind of like a vigil.

For a few weeks, the three of you sleep in the same bed, because no one really wants to be alone. The kid starts sleeping in her own bed sometimes, but you start sleeping Dallon's room more and more.

 

At the end of May, one night, after the kid is in bed, you're standing in the kitchen, reading an article on your phone, and making tea in the coffee maker that's intended for, you know, coffee, when Dallon comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on the top of your head. “I'm sorry about all of this. I didn't mean to put so much pressure onto you.”

“I'm fine, dude. I'm an adult. Like, barely an adult. There's shit going on, we're engaged for Christ's sake, and it'd be shitty of me to check out as soon as things get real. I'm here, and unless you do something super shitty and unforgivable, then I'm not leaving.”

Dallon's voice gets super quiet, and he starts breathing weird, but he says, “I really love you. Like, a lot.” (You're pretty sure he's crying, and it doesn't take long to figure out he is, you don't call him out on it, but rather you just hug him and try your best to comfort him.)

You're not reading the article on your phone anymore, and honestly, you've just been staring at your phone since Dallon had entered the room. You turn around in his little embrace, and pull him in for a gentle kiss.

 

From the middle of June to the middle of August, Dallon rents a condo in Las Vegas, and the two of you, plus the kid, visit _your_ parents. They absolutely adore her, and they find the 'dad' and 'Bren' nicknames to be adorable. She likes your parents as well, and it's actually a nice visit. You're not at your parents' house every day, but you do see them a lot that summer.

You visit Spencer a few times, and he apparently has a fiance. You still haven't broken the news to any one about being engaged to Dallon, and you're actually surprised no one has noticed the ring, aside from Spencer, of course. He's happy for you, and you're happy for him.

His fiance—she's good for him. He looks at her the way you look at Dallon, and you're glad Spencer has the chance to feel like that about someone.

You see Ryan a few times, mostly since he's around Spencer a lot, and he has a girlfriend now. You don't really talk to him a whole lot, since you still feel a little awkward around him, but you're happy for him as well.

 

Dallon comes home to a fucking mess late in August. You'd been baking a cake for the fuck of it with the kid, and essentially, she'd started a food fight, and there was cake batter, eggs, and flour all over the kitchen. Dallon had taken a step into the house, saw what was going on in the kitchen, and had said, “Nope,” before heading up to his bedroom to change out of his work clothes.

Of course, you and the kid don't give him a chance. You have almost perfect aim as you send an egg flying across the living room to hit Dallon in the back of the head. He stops dead in his tracks, and slowly turns his head to look at you. “You're fucking dead, Urie.” His briefcase hits the floor, and he kicks his shoes off along the way to the kitchen.

You let out a yelp as he throws a handful of flour at you, and you slide your way in your socks to a different part of the kitchen to nail him with a pretty big dollop of cake batter. The kid throws another egg at him, and she's giggling, especially when she runs over with the intention to give him a hug and dirty his suit up.

Dallon gives you a look, then cracks an egg over the kids head, and she's protesting, _loudly._ You get a shit-eating grin on your face as you grab another handful of flour to throw at Dallon. Most of it sticks to the eggs and cake batter on his suit, and he is giving you the _dirtiest_ fucking look you've _ever_ seen.

The aftermath is ridiculous. You end up having to throw the outfit you'd been wearing away, and Dallon is out about four thousand dollars since he has to do the same thing to his suit. The kid, lucky little shit, gets to keep her clothes.

It takes half an hour for you to get everything out of your hair, and it takes longer for Dallon, and _way_ longer for the kid, since she has more hair. The kitchen is a whole other story. The kitchen takes four hours to clean. Four. Fucking. Hours.

 

On Halloween, the kid is having a fucking fit. Like, you understand it, because, c'mon, she's a _kid,_ but it's a little ridiculous. Dallon's being cooler about it than you are. You aren't saying anything, but you're still in the room.

It starts off with her not being satisfied with her costume, and then devolves into either a panic attack or a tantrum. You couldn't tell which one it was, but Dallon pretty much materializes, since he apparently had 'Dad Senses' and they were going off. _He's a dork._

You spend about twenty minutes trying to help her calm down, along with Dallon, but she throws a fucking shoe at you, and says, “You're not my mom! Quit trying to be my _mom!_ ” It's a kid thing, and you'd said shit like that to your parents before, but that doesn't stop it from stinging.

Dallon looks mortified, and he shoots you an apologetic look before you're stomping out of the room, going down the stairs, and grabbing the keys to your car. You end up at Pete's apartment maybe half an hour later, and apparently you look like shit, because he tells you as much. You'd started tearing up on the way to his apartment, so that doesn't help matters.

You end up sitting on Pete's couch, sipping at a shot of tequila, and pretty much pouring your heart out. Patrick's there, and apparently he's dating Pete again, so you let him listen. “I'm fucking young and all, and I'm not trying to replace her mother, but it just _hurts._ I get it, she's eight, but Christ. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. I'm just trying to do what I can to help them.”

Pete points out that children say hurtful things without really realizing it, and you tell him that, yeah, you're aware, but that it doesn't stop it from _stinging._ “This has been something that's been bugging me, and actually hearing it just fucking sucks.”

After you've complained a little more, Patrick asks how it's going with Dallon, and you _finally_ tell them. “We got engaged in February. We would've told everyone, and we were kind of vaguely planning on having a wedding during the summer, but the shit with his wife happened, and we've been too busy.”

 

 **Dallon:** where are you

 **Brendon:** pete's apartment

 **Brendon:** I might or might not have had a shot or two of tequila

 **Brendon:** I cant drive home probably

 

Dallon shows up another half an hour and another two shots later looking a little disappointed and frustrated. The drive home is silent, because, hey, you're drunk, and you're not really in the mood to have another heartfelt discussion. He keeps you up until midnight, though, which is when you start sobering up. You feel like shit, but he starts talking.

“Look, if you're going to take off and get drunk every time shit like this happens, well, it's not going to fucking fly. I mean, she lost her mother for fuck's sake.” His tone is hushed but harsh.

You keep your tone hushed as well, but it's dripping with venom. “Do you think I don't know that? I got this shit ton of responsibility thrown onto my fucking shoulders out of basically nowhere, and I've been fucking _trying,_ and what she said was _exactly_ what I'd been fucking worrying about. I'm not trying to replace her fucking mother. On _fucking_ top of that, we've had reporters, journalists, and photographers up our damn asses since the funeral, and god damn it, I'm _stressed._ ”

He leans back in the chair he's sitting in, arms crossed, and a stern look on his face. “Sorry. I still think it was inappropriate of you to take off, and a little immature. Kids say hurtful shit, but you don't just walk out.”

You get out a quick 'oh my god' before raising your voice slightly. “Dallon, you're thirty three. You've had eight fucking years of experience with this. I'm twenty one, and I've had _six months,_ at _best._ I have no fucking clue what I'm doing.”

“Do you want out of this? You don't _have_ to do any of this.”

 _Wow._ “No!” By now, you're crying just a little bit out of frustration. “Look,” you wipe at your eyes; “We aren't married yet, but I'm taking the 'till death do us part' thing to heart. For better and for worse. Shit like that. I'm _here,_ and I'm going to keep _trying,_ but, fuck, I just want a little _compassion_ and _understanding._ That's all I want from you right now. Maybe some advice, while you're at it.” Now, you've taken on a slightly defeated tone, and you're starting to ugly sob, and you keep saying, “I'm sorry,” over and over.

 _Now_ he looks like a kicked puppy as he stands up then crawls across his fucking king-sized bed to pull you into his lap. He's shushing you a little bit as you cry into his shoulder. You feel so fucking _terrible._ He holds you, and apologizes for being a dick. “I didn't—I didn't realize. I've been caught up in work, and Sarah's been pedaling me for publicity stunts. I'm really sorry, Brendon. I haven't been taking enough time to pay attention to the two of you.”

You nod. You start hiccuping, and Dallon tries to hold back a laugh. You meekly hit him in the shoulder, as you say, “Don't laugh at me,” even though you have a smile spreading across your face.

 

The two of you end up taking a bath together. You're sitting between his legs, but you're leaned forward, with your head on your arms, and your arms resting on your knees. He's rubbing your shoulders and your back, gently, and it's helping the slightest bit with the tension. You can feel feather light kisses being pressed against your neck, and you smile slightly, because, hey, it's kind of cute.

(He's not coming onto you. Either of you had accidentally water boarded yourselves way too many times trying to have bath and shower sex, so either of you had given up on the fantasy.)

 

The next morning, you feel a small hand on your shoulder trying to shake you awake. Your eyes snap open, and you have a face full of an eight year old looking guilty as fuck. You grunt a bit as you sit up and put a finger to your lips after seeing that Dallon's still asleep. When you stand up, she grabs your hand, and practically drags you out of the bedroom and to the kitchen. Along the way, you realize you're a little hungover. Just a little.

She makes you sit across from her at the kitchen table, and she looks way too fucking serious for an eight year old when she crosses her fingers together before saying, “I'm sorry. I got in trouble for what I said and Dad told me to apologize when I meant it.”

“Shit happens.” She looks a little shocked, and then you realized what you said. “Don't tell your dad I said that.”

She does the motion of zipping her mouth shut, and you give her a thumbs up.

 

The first Thanksgiving without Dallon's wife isn't a great one. The three of you don't celebrate as big as last year. Dallon does order two pizzas, though, and tips the pizza delivery guy _very_ generously for working on a holiday.

The three of you watch a few movies while working on eating the pizzas. Dallon and his kid exchange a few stories of past thanksgivings, and it's bittersweet, honestly. It ends up being one of those nights that the three of you sleep in the same bed.

 

You have your winter break from the first of December to the middle of January, and the kid pretty much _begs_ you to take her to and from school everyday. You give in, of course. You were kind of looking forward to being able to sleep more, but the kid needs to go to school, and getting a ride from a parent, and oh god, you called yourself a parent, is something you always loved, even when you were in high school. It meant not having to take the bus.

 

Before you leave the house, you shoot a quick text towards Dallon.

 

 **Brendon:** mentally called myself a parent about half an hour ago

 **Brendon:** hoo boy

 **Dallon:** daddy

 **Brendon:** youre 12 years older than me and you pay for LITERALLY everything I do so technically youre the daddy here.

 **Brendon:** still laughing about how im ur trophy wife tho

 **Dallon:** the wifest

 **Dallon:** can u do the wife thing though and make the one thing I like ):

 **Brendon:** we'll see

 

The kid asks you what you're smiling at, and you just shake your head. She doesn't need to hear the 'daddy' joke quite yet.

 

On the way to her elementary school, traffic is fucking atrocious, and she ends up being an hour late, so _you_ end up having to walk into the school with her to sign something to excuse the tardiness. She clings to your hand for dear life, and honestly, you didn't know an eight year old could squeeze your hand that hard.

The walk from the parking lot to the doors of the school is a pretty long one, and along the way, the kid expresses her dislike for the secretary, who is apparently super scary, and super mean. She's right on the mean part. The secretary scoffs when she sees you. She sounds snide when she asks what your relation is to the kid, and you casually just say, “Step-father. Or, well, soon to be, at least.”

The kid's head whips towards you at the speed of light as she says, “You and Dad are getting married?” She looks excited, and yeah, your heart melts a little bit.

You nod and give her a slight little grin before going back to signing some overly official papers for a fucking tardy. The secretary looks vaguely disgusted, but you just give her an even and unwavering look as you slide the paper back across the desk. She hands you a slip, and instructs you to go with the kid to her classroom to give the slip to the teacher.

Why the kid couldn't have gone herself, well, you have no fucking clue. You feel thirteen other pairs of eyes on you as soon as you walk into the classroom, and it makes your skin crawl. Children are fucking creepy. The teacher is a girl, and you can see her practically undressing you with her eyes, and, yeah, that's super fucking creepy as well.

 

You do a bit of grocery shopping during the day, and you pick through the house and clean up here and there where needed. You take a message from Sarah to pass along to Dallon, and you make yourself a meal around two. Around three, you head back to the elementary school, and you pretty much get knocked over by the kid, who basically launches herself at you. “Jeez, hey.”

Once you're back in the car, and once both of you have seat belts on, she asks if you can take her to a Dairy Queen, since she wants ice cream. You text Dallon, and make sure he's cool with it, and after you get permission, the kid pretty much loses her shit because, Jesus, kids fucking love ice cream apparently.

 

The two of you sit in the car to eat the ice cream, and she asks, “How did you meet Dad? He never told me.”

You take a deep breath. “Oh, god, it's been three years since I've met him. I used to work at a Starbucks with a few friends, and your dad _hates_ Starbucks, but he kept coming back because, apparently, I am cute. I kind of sort of fell in love with him within the first six months of knowing him, and honestly, it's just snowballed from there.”

“What does snowballed mean?”

Your mind immediately goes to the Urban Dictionary definition, but you answer with what you _actually_ meant. “You know how when you roll a snowball down a hill and it gets bigger? It's like that. It's an expression.”

(As a side note, in the beginning of your relationship with Dallon, the two of you tried snowballing, but you ended up gagging, and, well, it never happened again.)

 

The first Christmas is worse than Thanksgiving. The kid cries quite a bit the day of, and Dallon, along with you, spend most of the day trying to comfort her, and you spend a bit more time trying to comfort Dallon, since he wasn't in the best of moods either. You didn't realize how much of an effect a family death would have on holidays. Obviously, you knew it wouldn't be a good one, but you didn't know it would be this bad.

You do what you can, though. The three of you exchange a few gifts, but not as much as usual. Dallon didn't even bother with decorations that year, which was fucking something, because the other two Christmases you'd spent with him, he'd gone all out.

New Years isn't much better.

 

January goes alright, you go back to school in the middle of it, and February is pretty romantic given Dallon had proposed on fucking Valentine's day the previous year, and then _March_ happens. It's been a year since his wife/the kid's mother had died, and _no_ one is doing good the week of, let alone the _day_ of. Dallon gets plastered on the one year anniversary, and you end up nursing him through his hangover. The kid just sleeps, and she doesn't say much.

Dallon had left around seven, saying he was going out to clear his mind, so you were left alone with the kid for nearly five fucking hours. She'd gone to bed around ten, and you were up pacing and trying to call Dallon, since he _rarely_ stayed out past nine without at least saying something. Pretty much on the dot, he shows up again at midnight reeking of booze.

When he stumbles in, you're immediately saying, “Please tell you didn't drive home.”

He shakes his head. “Uber.”

“Ah.” You get up from the couch, and you actually catch him as he trips over one of the rugs. Having one hundred and ninety pounds of Dallon holding onto you for dear life is a fucking experience, given you weigh about one-sixty _at best_. The dude is muscular, and you're surprised at how much he weighs sometimes. He's disoriented, and he can barely stand up on his own without you helping him. You help him up the stairs and manage to get him into one of the bathrooms. He's starting to look a little queasy, so you help him get his sweater off, just in the nick of time, too, because the next thing you know, he's leaning over the toilet bowl, emptying his guts.

It's gross, but you sit next to him, and rub his back the same way you remember your mother rubbing yours whenever you'd gotten sick as a child. When he's done, you reach to grab a wad of toilet paper, and you make him sit up so you can wipe around his mouth and nose. You help him stand up, and you make him brush his teeth, since vomit breath was one of your pet peeves.

He's a little more sober now. Little being the key word, of course. He's still stumbling, and it takes a ridiculous amount of time to get him into the bedroom either of you shared. You help him out of his pants, and you throw a pair of flannel pajama bottoms at him and a t-shirt that's way too large. He manages to get them on without any help, thankfully.

You're already in your pajamas, so you climb into the bed next to Dallon, and you end up with him in your arms like a child. He's ugly sobbing, like, _really_ ugly sobbing, and you have a pretty big wet spot on your shirt from his tears. Eventually, he runs out of tears, but he's still shaking, and kind of whimpering. “This is why I don't get drunk.”

You let out a little huff of breath at him.

“I'm sorry.”

“Dallon, she was your wife for ten years, and you had a _child_ with her. I'm not expecting you to be some emotionless drone when it comes to all of this. I haven't known you for nearly as long as you'd known her, and it's only been a year. I'm not _mad._ You don't need to be sorry, dude.”

He looks up at you, and his eyes are red and his face is a little splotchy. “Maybe I was apologizing for getting your shirt wet.”

“Oh, fuck off, you ass.”

He giggles, a little cynically you believe, before kissing you on the lips.

 

You're woken up around five by the kid climbing onto the bed, and worming her way under the covers. Dallon's dead asleep, and it doesn't rouse him, but you're awake almost immediately. She mutters something about a nightmare, and then you have a child crying your arms, and Dallon's coveted 'Dad Senses' are going off, because he's awake, and looking between you and the kid in the sunlight that's just barely starting to filter through the curtains.

That's how you find yourself singing some weird duet of a Foreigner song with Dallon to his kid (and your own, now that you think about it) at five in the morning.

 

You're woken up again for a few minutes around noon to Dallon getting up. The kid is still asleep, and you're about two seconds from falling back asleep yourself, but you have a small moment of eye contact with Dallon, and he has some dopey grin spreading across his face as he mouths, 'I love you.'

 

You only manage to get another hour of sleep before there's a child on your back, pretty much screaming, “Dad! Get up! Uncle Pete and Uncle Patrick are here!”

You're tired. Like, really tired. You're not in the mood for visitors, so you try calling out Dallon's name, but you hear a distant shout of, “Was that the wind?” from across the house, and you write Dallon off as dead before getting up, and effectively knocking the kid off of your back.

 

When you're down the stairs, Pete gives you a quick bro-hug, and Patrick gives you the slightest of grins and a small nod. Dallon has a cup of coffee ready for you as soon as you walk in the kitchen, and you gladly take it after giving him a quick peck on the lips. (You do make a comment about that small exchange being the reason you're engaged to him, and he rolls his eyes while Pete groans.)

 

The two of them are over to, apparently, just hang out. You end up standing with Patrick on one of the balconies, having a deep conversation. “Okay, no one is supposed to know yet, but, uh, Pete kind of proposed to me last week.” He looks _giddy,_ and that's an emotion you hadn't seen out of Patrick yet.

You've been waiting for this moment since the minute you'd met them, and Patrick gets a bear-hug from you. The two of you talk about his engagement to Pete for a while before he asks you about you when you're finally going to get married to Dallon.

“No clue. I'm not really in a rush, if I'm honest. See, you and Pete could pretty much get married any time you wanted. We can't, because whenever I get married to Dallon, there's probably going to be at least _some_ sort of public interest, and it has to be just about perfect, since he needs to avoid bad publicity. It's fucking dumb.”

Patrick winces. “Jeez. I don't really get why Dallon's basically famous.”

You shrug. “He's rich, he's been in Forbes, and he's been harassed by Times magazine for the past six months. Objectively, he's attractive, and he's a good person, so he's been getting a lot of attention. I'm basically the trophy wife.”

“How rich is he anyways? Like, I remember you saying something about five grand a day or something, but you wouldn't think that would make him _that_ rich.”

You _snort._ “Try a net worth of four hundred million and around fifty million a year.”

“You're joking.”

“Dude, there's about five million dollars in _my_ bank account, and that's just money that he's given me over the past _four_ years.”

“Why the _fuck_ do the two of you live in Milwaukee, then? Why not California or New York? There's literally _nothing_ here.”

“If I knew, I'd tell you. Personally, I think moving to New York would be wise for him as far as business goes, and he has a few other people telling him the same thing, but he likes Milwaukee. Added, I'm almost done with my master's in business administration, so there's not really a whole point to moving quite yet. I still have about two and a half years.”

“Pete's a few months off from a bachelor's in political science, and I'm a few years away from a master's in journalism. _”_

“Seriously? Journalism?”

“Yes.”

You let out a low whistle. “I have beef with journalists.”

“I wonder why,” he remarks dryly.

 

When the beginning of June rolls around, Dallon's in the kitchen, talking to Sarah, and you're trying to figure your schedule for the next week, when you hear, “Uh, _honey?_ Come here for a second.”

You cringe so fucking hard. _Good fucking lord. The last time he called me that was in July of 2013 when Pete had shown up wasted_ _and_ _crying about Patrick._

 

When you get to the kitchen, Dallon is looking at you with what you _think_ is disbelief, and Sarah looks _excited._

“...What?” You ask that super slowly, looking between the two of them.

Dallon gives Sarah a pointed look, and says, “Well, tell him. Quit dicking around.”

“Did I get Dallon pregnant?”

Cue Dallon snorting his drink through his nose and giving you a dirty look.

“No, Brendon, you didn't get him pregnant.”

“Well, thank god for that,” you remark, sarcastically. “We'd make ugly babies. No offense, Dallon.”

“Yeah, none taken. Anyways, Sarah, for fuck's sake, tell him.”

“Well, I got an email this morning.”

You nod, waiting for her to continue.

“It was sent by someone from Yves Saint Laurent.”

“Get to the point, Sarah.” Dallon looks exasperated.

“How would you feel about going to Paris for a week, and doing a photo shoot for Yves Saint Laurent?”

You just give her a bored look. “You're fucking with me, and I'm going back upstairs to finish what I was doing.”

Dallon slams his hands down on the table. “Brendon! She's not kidding! She seriously got a fucking email from Yves Saint Laurent; I saw it my damn self. You need to fucking do this. You're probably going to be in a few magazines, and you're going to have modeling agencies having all out _wars_ over you.”

That's how you end up in Paris with Sarah and some guy named Tyler, who is apparently a manager, and knows what the fuck he's doing. (Sarah has apparently worked with the him for a good while, and convinced both you and Dallon to hire the dude.)

 

The day the three of you fly to Paris, you figure out that Tyler motherfucking Joseph is one of the weirdest people you've met. Normally, on flights, especially if you're privileged enough to fly first class, you're not going to wear fucking Prada to make yourself look more intimidating than you actually are. Of course, this dude is doing _exactly_ what literally every single other person in the damn world wouldn't do. Even Dallon, who is nit picky about what he wears, wouldn't do this.

Hell, you haven't shaved in two days and you're in a pair of ratty sweatpants and an old t-shirt yourself, and Sarah is basically in the girl version of what you're wearing. When you ask Sarah about this, she shushes you. “Don't ask. He's an enigma.”

 

You have a day or two to kill before the photo shoot is scheduled to happen. You spend the first day fixing your sleep schedule, then it gets fucked up the next day around four in the morning, Paris time, when your phone starts ringing. You look at the caller ID, and it's Dallon, so you figure it's probably important.

 _“_ _Brendon, I know it's_ _four_ _for you, but will you_ please _get on Skype?”_

You groan, and ask why.

_“_ _I'm trying to get the kid to go to bed, but she wants to talk to you, and refuses to sleep until she gets what she wants.”_

You agree to his request before hanging up and pulling your laptop out. It takes a few minutes for you to get Skype all loaded up, and as soon as Dallon sees you come online, you get a call notification. You're laying on your side, covered in a blanket, with only your face and part of your hands visible.

Dallon waves, and you move one of your hands in response. You have a small chat with the kid, and you explain what you'd been doing for the past few days, and you explain what you're going to be doing for the rest of the week, and by the time you're finished, she's out cold, and you're just shocked, because, seriously, how the hell can children fall asleep so fast?

You watch your screen as Dallon heads towards his own room, and closes the door behind him. Once he's sat down on his bed, you ask him to tell you about his day.

“The usual. Got up and went to work, then I came home and made dinner. It feels weird without you here.” He's, presumably, looking at you through his laptop screen, and you give him a small, sleepy little grin. A few minutes of silence later, he says, “You're cute.”

“Mhm. I wish I could teleport home or something for a few minutes, because I really want to kiss you right about now. You're looking pretty fine yourself.” You watch him rub at one of his eyes and shoot _you_ a sleepy grin.

The moment is cute and all until Tyler bursts into the room, shouting, “Brendon! Get up! We have shit to do!” You roll over a bit to glare at the guy, but he has the face of a stone cold bitch, and it's so unsettling. He walks over until he's in Dallon's view, then he says, “Hey, Dallon. I hope you sleep well and all, but, I need to steal your fiance for approximately the next sixteen hours.”

Dallon's laughing a bit at the situation, and you say your goodbyes before ending the call and getting up to do whatever it is you're needed to do for the day.

 

You meet with a few people from Yves Saint Laurent, and Tyler translates. There's two fucking people in your life who are fluent in French, and you're to the point that you're tempted to learn it yourself. Sarah sits on the other side of you, leaned back, and arms crossed, giving the two strangers calculative and cold looks. Intimidation is one of her things.

Essentially, you have to sign a few legal documents, and Tyler is _very_ explicit when translating them for you, making sure you know what you're doing. (You're thankful.) You're told not to show up with any make up on whatsoever, and to wear clothes you can change out of easily. You're also told to leave your hair alone, and to take a shower.

 

By the time you're back in your hotel, it's about ten at night. You're pretty sure it's around four in Milwaukee, so you send Dallon a text.

 

 **Brendon:** its like four right

 **Dallon:** yeah

 **Dallon:** im on my way home at the moment so if you're still awake do you wanna bullshit for a while

 **Brendon:** obviously thats why I texted you

 **Dallon:** shh

 

Dallon doesn't call you on Skype until about midnight, and you're a little sleepy, but you know he had to take his shower, then make food for the kid and do a few other things that are all a part of his daily routine. He asks about your day, so you explain it in more detail than you had yesterday. “After Tyler came into my room at four in the fucking morning, he made me get dressed in something super formal, then him, Sarah, and I went to some meeting with a bunch of people from Yves. Tyler is like, really fluent in French, and he's a bit of an asshole, but he gets shit done.”

Dallon nods, so you continue.

“He was translating for us, and the legal documents I had to sign were in French for whatever fucking reason, and he was like, super good at explaining those too. Him and Sarah dragged me to a restaurant, and, honestly, the food tasted like shit, but it's one of those high-end restaurants that _everyone_ goes to; you know the whole deal with those. They had good wine, though, so that was a plus.” You let out a yawn, then power through the next part. “Tyler went back to the hotel after that, and Sarah took me shopping, saying that I needed to take advantage of being in Paris.” You roll your eyes a bit. “I spent an obscene amount of money on clothes today. I was close to jumping off of a bridge.”

Dallon chuckles a little bit. “Paris is a fun place to go clothes shopping. There are a _lot_ of name brand companies with stores there. The next time we go, I'll take you to a few places. Oh, dude, we should go to Japan. Like, the culture is awesome, so is the food, and they have some super interesting clothes. It's not the kind of shit I'd wear, honestly, but you wear a lot of questionable things, so you might enjoy it.”

“I resent that, you ass. You're the one who wears at least twenty five grand in fuckin' Prada every single place you go.”

“Sometimes I wear Versace, thank you very much. Maybe Givenchy if I'm feeling it.”

You snort. “First world problems.”

You see him roll his eyes and crack a grin.

“How's your day?”

“Alright. Went to work a little late, because my parents drove from Chicago to come retrieve the child for a visit. She's probably staying with them until the end of July. They haven't really had a chance to, uh, see her since the funeral, so, you know.”

“Ah.”

He gets a sad little look on his face but it disappears about as soon as you notice it. “I took a pretty long shower when I got home, then watched an episode of The Walking Dead. The perfect thing to fall asleep thinking about, you know?”

“Definitely. Okay, not trying to get weird, but now I _really_ wish I was home, because we could _so_ be using this time to fuck.”

Dallon laughs like a fucking crow. “Jesus, dude. That's not what I expected. Yeah, though. Children can kill a sex life faster than anything else.”

The two of you 'have a pretty lengthy discussion regarding sex,' (read: dirty talk) and then Dallon is so fucking smug as he holds up a small bottle of lube, and, well, you pop a hard-on almost immediately. Skype sex with your fiance while you're on the other side of the Atlantic before falling asleep? Totally makes for a good night.

 

You're woken up at four again by Tyler busting into your room, followed by a groggy Sarah. “Brendon, get the fuck up. We have even more shit to do.”

“Jesus, how the hell are you even awake?”

“Caffeine and perseverance. Anyways, look, you need to get ready, because we're supposed to be there around seven, and we all need to eat.”

 

The photo shoot is so fucking weird. Tyler and Sarah are both in the room, watching with waning interest, making sure everything is going good. You have make up caked on your face, and apparently it's supposed to make you look _natural._ Your hair feels as if it weighs about ten pounds more than it already does due to the excessive amounts of product in it, and there's assistants pinning your clothes into place behind your back, and you have to stay very fucking still whenever you change poses.

It's not a bad experience, but you're not used to it. Once you're back into the sweats and the sweatshirt you'd shown up in, the photographer shows you the photos, and Tyler translates his feedback and his comments. The gist of what the photographer had said was basically: You're handsome, you have a great body, especially when it comes to modeling, and you have potential for a career.

This is what starts the debate: Drop out of college and pursue a career in modeling or finish your degree and get a boring job like regular people. You knew that whatever you chose, Dallon would be supportive, and that he'd encourage you.

You get some head shots done while you're there, and after you receive the email containing the pictures from the photo shoot, you forward them to Dallon, and he says, and you quote, “You're fucking gorgeous holy shit.” You kind of want to tell him to 'shut up' when you get that response, because your face had gone a little red.

 

The three of you fly home two days later, and as soon as you're in the fucking door Dallon is on you. You're pressed against the wall on the left side of the door, and you have a surreal little moment when you remember the Valentine's day from when you were eighteen. This is similar to that experience, but it isn't as hasty, and neither of you are as rough as you were before.

You don't really know how to put it, but, there's like… There's more _love_ in this experience.

You take your jacket off, and blindly try to hang it on one of the coat hooks, but you hear it fall to the floor, and, honestly, you don't give a shit. Your fiance has his hands touching you wherever he can, and it's something that had just developed over the four years you'd known him. You have your hands in his hair, and you're tugging at it slightly, since you know it's one of the things that gets him worked up.

His hands are under your shirt now, you can feel his nails slightly clawing at your back, and you can't help the strangled noise that rips out of your throat. For some reason, your back is sensitive as hell. Dallon knows exactly what to do, and how your body works. He totally uses it to his advantage, too. Not that you particularly mind, of course.

Eventually, you're hoisted up and you let out a little yelp in response. He carries you bridal style to the bedroom, then you're gently laid down on the bed. He's holding your arms above your head, and he's sitting on your hips, effectively immobilizing you. (You could easily get out of his grasp if you really wanted to, and he knows when to stop.) He's practically assaulting your lips with his own, and, yeah, you're pretty fucking turned on right now.

Dallon's rolling his hips _slightly,_ and you're kicking your shoes off and knocking them off of the bed as best as you can. You'd grown a few inches since you'd met him, so the height difference wasn't as ridiculous. (You'd been around 5'3” or 5'4” when you'd met him, and he's 6'4” at the moment. Currently, you're 5'10.” Yes, you managed to grow six inches. You had one growth spurt left in you.)

He releases your arms for at least a minute or two while you take your shirt off, and while he takes his own off. He's rushing slightly as he's taking his pants off, and you groan a bit at the sight. He climbs off of your hips while he's preoccupied with that, and you take the chance to sit up so you can take your own pants off.

He, apparently, isn't wearing underwear, and you have to ask him to slow down. His whole demeanor changes, and he asks if you're alright. “I'm fine, but I'm about to blow my fucking load in my underwear right now, and I haven't done that since I was fourteen.”

His eyebrows are raised slightly as he slowly peels your underwear off of you. “You know, marathon sex is a thing.”

“Alright, but consider this: I'm jet lagged, and I'm probably going to pass the fuck out after this.” He rolls his eyes at you, but he listens, and he takes it slow. It doesn't take long for him to be between your legs, and reaching over you and into his bedside table to grab a condom and some lube. It'd been a few months since the two of you had screwed around, and you weren't as used to everything as you had been.

He's gentle; super fucking gentle. You're not expecting to get emotional, but, alas, you do, and you _really_ want to kiss him. Like, super bad. You tell him this, and he's more than happy to comply while working with his hand… _down there._ You're awkward. You're twenty two. You're _young._ Which explains the awkwardness. How do you even explain this?

He wipes his hand on the duvet once he's pulling it away, and you cringe, but he rolls his eyes again, saying, “It's not like we don't have five hundred other blankets, dude.”

You have hands on his neck, back, chest, shoulders, arms, and basically anywhere else you could reach, after he had kissed the corner of your mouth and whispered, “Tell me if you need me to stop or anything.”

“Fine—just—hurry up, Jesus.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. In a breathy voice, he says, “Dallon's fine, by the way.”

“Shut the fuck up, or— _fuck_ —I'm not letting your dick anywhere near me for a _year.”_

He's trying to find a rhythm while he's saying, “That's a lie, and— _shit_ —you know it.”

He's right. Both of you know it. You have your face pressed into his neck by then, and you kind of bite him as your fingernails leave crescent shaped marks on his back, in an attempt to hold back an obscene noise. He doesn't even attempt to hold back the loud moan that actually kind of sounds like a shout. You forgot, but he has a thing for biting. He's fucking weird. (Though, you like being scratched, so it's probably a fair trade.)

 

As expected, you do pass the fuck out. You'd gotten home around six in the evening, EST, of course, you'd fallen asleep around eight, probably a little sooner than that, and you wake up at four in the morning. In your half asleep state, you send a text to Tyler.

 

 **Brendon:** youre not at my house about to yell at me to get up are you

 **Tyler:** no wtf im hanging out with my boyfriend I have shit to do other than yell at u to get up

 **Brendon:** wait

 **Brendon:** you're gay

 **Tyler:** I wore prada on a plane and had pants tighter than something vulgar while we were in paris; yes I am gay

 **Brendon:** huh ok well im going back to sleep adios fucker

 

When you wake up for real, it's about six, and it's because Dallon is sitting up and groaning slightly. After he takes his shower, he's back in the room to get dressed, you just watch him, admiring how he looks. “Why are you watching me, you creep?” He has a half grin on his face, and he's making eye contact with you through the mirror as he buttons his shirt.

“You look nice, and I like looking at nice things.”

“Hush. You're gonna make me blush.”

You yawn, and sit up, and rub your eyes a bit before asking him if he'd be willing to make you coffee. He informs you that he already did, and you literally respond with; “If we weren't already engaged, I'd ask you to marry me.”

He just shakes his head, and, honestly, he's filled with shy smiles this morning. You follow him when he goes downstairs, and you make small talk and totally don't kiss him for the fifteen minutes you have with him before he leaves for work.

 

A few days later, around nine, Sarah and Tyler show up, and _someone_ you haven't seen in like, three years, is there also. Fucking _Josh_.

“Josh, what the actual fuck are you doing here?” You don't even acknowledge Sarah or Tyler, because Jesus, you're confused.

Tyler rolls his eyes, jerks a thumb at Josh, and says, “Boyfriend. He's clingy.”

“You're the one who let me tag along, so shut up.”

 

As usual, you, Sarah, and Tyler end up sat at the kitchen table _._ (Josh raids the fridge, and you tell him he can watch whatever on the TV.) “Okay, so, the pictures.” Sarah's speaking; “They're going to be in a few magazines, and a few of them are going to be used for adverts.”

“Basically, your face is going to be plastered in all over fuckin' Paris, and in New York City.” For someone with such a dweeby and nasally voice, Tyler sure has a potty mouth.

“Okay, so, I can cross New York off of places I'm not visiting within the next six months.”

“Oh, _no_ , you shut the hell up.” You have a finger pointed at you, and Sarah's doing her typical leaning back in the chair trying to give you an intimidating look routine. “You're in college, right?”

“Yes.”

“Take a break next semester, and try to work on, like, making your body look better or whatever the hell else, because _you_ are hot shit right now.”

Josh says 'rude' from the living room, and Tyler tells him to fuck off. (You learn that the two of them have known each other since they were freshmen, and given that either of them are twenty seven, well, that's a long fucking time.)

“Is my body not good enough?”

“Objectively, you're fine, but you need to build up your muscle mass and try to trim down on fat.”

“Well, you're fucking blunt.”

“I'm your manager. Not your friend.”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Quit being an ass. Anyways, I managed to pull a few things out of my ass, and, basically, you're walking at an Yves Saint Laurent show, Paris fashion week, and New York Fashion week.”

“Does Dallon know?”

Tyler answers. “I sent him an email this morning. No clue if he's read it, though.”

“I have a few meetings I have to go to,” Sarah's saying as she stands up. “I'll be back next week with more information or whatever. Tyler, if you want a ride, you need to stand up, or I'm leaving you here.”

(Insert an obnoxious and overly drawn out groan.)

 

When Dallon gets home, he scares the shit out of you. You'd fallen asleep on the couch while reading a book and watching something, and he literally sat right next to you, except on the floor, with his face directly in front of yours. You're used to _the kid_ pulling that shit, but a face full of Dallon as soon as you wake up scares the shit out of you.

You accidentally nail him in the nose from jerking your arm out of alarm, and he falls on his back, and swears. “Fuck, Brendon! _Ow.”_

“Don't fucking do that again. I'm going to go prematurely gray because of you.” You let out a huff of breath, and put a hand over your heart for a few seconds, before helping Dallon off of the floor. Once he's up on two legs, he's pulling you into a hug, and you can feel him pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. You wrap your arms around him, and hold the hug for a while.

Eventually, he says, “I love you, but I need to shower.”

“Dude, you just ruined a moment.”

“You're one to talk, Mister 'This is like a bad romantic comedy.' I literally confessed my love to you, and you said that.”

“Okay, look, I was like nineteen, and I didn't know how to handle it.”

“You're barely twenty-two.”

“Bite me.”

 

You're the one who makes dinner that night. You're not making anything fancy, honestly. You'd pulled a recipe off of some website, and Dallon was helping you. You'd been with him for four years, but you didn't quite trust him with recipes he had no experience with yet.

While you're waiting for a pot of water to boil, Dallon has you backed against one of the counters, and he's kissing you. It's all fun and games until the fucking fire alarm is going off and thoroughly scaring the shit out of either of you.

(The steam from the water had set it off. Dallon makes a note to get the fire alarms fixed.)

 

When you go to Paris for the Yves Saint Laurent show, Dallon and Tyler are with you. Sarah had some family business to attend to, so she wasn't able to come, and the kid had practically _begged_ to see _your_ parents, so she was with them for a few weeks while the three of you were in Paris. (Though, the three of you would only be gone for four days.)

The plane ride is about the same as last time. Tyler shows up, not in Prada, but in some other obscure, but highly expensive, brand. Dallon's wearing a pair of slacks and a dress shirt, and you're wearing a shitty t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The plane is different, though, and there's actual rows in first class rather than four seats in a fashion similar to a booth at a restaurant.

You're next to Dallon, and Tyler's two rows in front of you watching Three's Company. You text Josh at some point, and tell him.

 

 **Brendon:** tyler likes threes company apparently

 **Josh:** hes a bitch-ass liar apparently too he told me he didn't like threes company

 

About a minute later, Tyler's poking his head above his seat, and making eye contact with you, before saying, “Snitch.”

Dallon gives either of you a weird look, and you show him your phone. He makes a soft 'pff' noise.

 

You fall asleep about half an hour into the flight.

You get about two hours in before you hear Dallon speaking _super_ quietly to a flight attendant, asking for some expensive liquor that you honestly hate but he loves for whatever fucking reason. You sit up, and you have to fight off the feeling of being a little embarrassed about falling asleep on Dallon's shoulder. _I've been with this goof for four years, yet I still have heart palpitations over doing things that people in long-term relationships should normally do anyways._

 

The show goes good. You're put into about ten different outfits, and there's a make up team fucking with your face every single time you're backstage, but you'd gotten some weird rush of excitement from the experience, especially as it was happening.

When you're back at the hotel, and after Tyler's crawled out of your ass and goes back to his own room, you're fidgeting, and kind of just moving around like some hyperactive kid, trying to expel some of your nervous energy. You start pacing, and you only get to pace about ten minutes before Dallon turns around in the desk chair, and asks you to sit down.

You apologize for annoying him, and sit down on the bed again.

“You're not annoying, but you _are_ distracting me. I just—I have some paperwork I need to get done. _I'm_ sorry, because I'm pretty sure we're supposed to be relaxing or whatever, but I have work to do.” He looks so apologetic and a little sad and god damn it, your heart hurts a bit. You trust him when he says he needs to get whatever he's doing done immediately, but you draw the line at two in the morning.

You get up from the bed, and walk to where he's sitting. He's staring at his laptop with a frown on his face, and you put your hand on his shoulder. “You need to sleep. Tyler's probably going to be in here within a few hours telling us to get up, maybe even shouting, and you need to get at least a few hours in.”

He lets out a defeated sigh, but he listens to you nonetheless. You're cold, and also in your underwear, so it takes you about ten seconds to be curling up under the blankets. You watch him as he gets undressed. You aren't being creepy about it, but you like how he looks. Hell, it isn't even sexual, but he just looks _good._ That doesn't stop him from calling you out, though. “Pervert. Why are you staring at me?” He's giving you an ornery little smirk via the mirror he's standing in front of.

You let an overly dramatic and wistful sigh, saying, “Oh, it's not like you're my gorgeous fiance, let alone the love of my life. Definitely nothing like that.” He averts his gaze, breaking eye contact, and you can tell he's trying not to smile _too_ big from what you'd said. “Dude, hurry up; I'm cold and I need to leech your body heat.”

He raises his eyebrows at you and resumes the eye contact from earlier. “Is that why we're engaged? So you can steal my body heat?”

“Yes, that's exactly why. Definitely not like I love you nor am I willing to spend the rest of my life with you or anything.”

“Smart-ass.” He rolls his eyes, but makes quick work of getting his slacks off anyways. He stretches, and you hear almost every fucking bone in his body pop, which makes you cringe. Once he's in the bed, he lays on his side, facing your back, and, essentially, you're totally a little spoon. As expected, he's basically a furnace, and you're thankful he's willing to let you put your cold hands and feet on him, because honestly, you're super fucking cold. He has his face in the spot between your shoulder and neck, and he's asking, “You remember when I kissed you the first time?”

“Weren't we standing outside of that shitty apartment I had?”

“Yeah. I was like, really nervous when that happened. I wanted to kiss you again, but I decided not to.”

“I would've let you, to be honest. Actually, I probably would've let you do just about anything to me. I had such a fucking crush on you.”

You can feel him smiling. “I'm glad I had the balls to ask you to get a drink with me, too.”

“Did you even know I was eighteen? Like, that I wasn't old enough to drink?”

“No, but _you_ didn't tell me that, Mister.” He nips your neck a bit playfully, and you huff.

“You didn't tell me you were thirty either, though.”

You hear him snort before he asks, “Remember when we _did the do_ for the first time?”

“You can tell me you're going to fuck me until I can't walk right, but you can't actually say 'fucked.'”

He pinches your side, and you yelp and call him an ass. “Shut up. I was like, super bad.”

“Apparently you weren't _that_ bad, because we're here now.”

“I had no clue what I was doing, though. All I knew was what I'd picked up from the few experiences I had in college, porn, and shit I found on Google.”

“It's not like I really knew what I was doing either, dude. I mean, I definitely wasn't a virgin when I met you, but it's not like I was out fucking every night. Surprisingly, working at Starbucks was exhausting, and I didn't have the energy to go to clubs to pick up guys or whatever.”

“Honestly, the only reason I went to that Starbucks was because I spilled the coffee I'd already made for myself in my car, and I didn't have the time to drive all the fucking way across Milwaukee to go get more. I literally wouldn't have met you if it wasn't for me spilling my coffee.”

“Why did you keep going back?”

“I thought you were cute, and I liked the way you smiled. Why did you write your number on the cup?”

You shrug. “I can't remember, but I want to say it's because I felt the forces of fate and destiny driving us together.”

“You're full of fucking shit, Brendon.”

 

Instead of four, Tyler comes stumbling into the room around six, hits you in the arm, then yanks Dallon's hair to wake either of you up. He has bags under his eyes, and he's only wearing a pair of boxers that are just a _touch_ too small. “Don't speak. I am very hungover, because the bar here has awesome daiquiris. The two of you need to get up and dressed, because I just got a call from some fashion magazine, and they want to talk to Brendon on short notice. One of the people from there, or whatever the fuck you call them, were at the show, and I'm going to go overdose on Advil because my head hurts really fucking bad.”

As Tyler walks out of the room, you sit up and look at Dallon, who's on his back with an arm over his eyes. “He's good at his job, but he's fucking insufferable.”

Ten minutes later finds the two of you taking a shower together in an attempt to save time. You're facing away from him, washing your hair with overpriced shampoo, and he's behind you kissing your neck (or trying to), then sputtering; “Fuck, I forgot shampoo tastes like shit.”

“ _You're_ the one trying to come onto me.”

 

You look like a fucking hipster. That's what you look like. You couldn't find your contacts, so you're wearing your bulky hipster glasses that you really need to get replaced, and you're cold, so you're wearing a sweater, then you have on the tightest pair of black jeans you own. You don't even want to get started on your shoes. (Dallon's in the usual dress shirt and slacks, which is to be expected, honestly. Though, he does have a jacket, for once in his life.)

Tyler's waiting in the lobby, and he looks a little pissed. You assume it's the hangover. He stands up when he sees you and Dallon, saying, “We have a few hours, so we should go get something to eat. I hate the food here. They don't have anything good for a hangover.”

 

Half an hour later, out of all the fancy, high-end restaurants in Paris, the three of you are in a McDonald's. There's about four people in front of your little trio, then there's about five people behind the three of you as well. Basically, it's crowded, and you're uncomfortable, so you're pretty much glued to Dallon's side with an arm around his waist, and he has a protective arm around your shoulders. Tyler's scanning the menu, trying to decide what he wants. (You'd decided on a ten pack of chicken nuggets, with an agreement to share them with Dallon.)

You hear some teenager behind you say something loud that _sounds_ insulting, in French, and you assume you're right, because both Dallon and Tyler's heads whipped around _so_ fucking fast. You're slowly looking behind yourself, then up at Dallon, quietly asking, “What did he say?”

Tyler answers without looking away from the guy, a fierce glare settling onto his face. “Called the two of you fags, called Americans some word that I don't know, and said something about not showing that shit in public.”

Dallon says something in the intimidating 'you better watch your tongue' voice that he uses when his kid is smarting off or in general just being a brat, _and_ has the signature milk-curdling glare, similar to Tyler. Tyler says something as well, and you watch as the embarrassment and mortification settle on the teen's face. You have no fucking clue what either of them said, but you're glad they said _something._

Dallon kisses you on the temple, very obnoxiously, and Tyler makes a gagging noise at the two of you.

 

The meeting or whatever the hell you want to call it ends up not really even being worth your time, and you're a little miffed when the three of you leave. The magazine was some shady rag, and Tyler about had a fit. You'd made a comment along the lines of, “Your fault for not looking into it,” and, oh man, the _look_ he gave you. The saying, “If looks could kill,” was _so_ relevant at that moment.

 

You're out again a few hours later, this time with _only_ Dallon, since he wants to follow through on the promise he made to take you clothes shopping the last time you were in Paris. It's actually kind of fun. You're used to ordering clothes online, to be honest. It's easier, and takes less time, but there's a certain novelty to actually going to a store and trying things on.

The two of you do a lot of window shopping, and honestly, it kind of feels like you're on a date right now. He's holding your hand, and flirting with you a bit. You're smiling, and making a few jokes here and there, which makes him laugh, and honestly, he has an awesome laugh. It's fucking adorable and you will never get tired of it. You like it when you're the one who makes him laugh. It's a normal thing, obviously, but it doesn't stop the sense of satisfaction you get.

You end up adding another sweater to your already massively growing collection of them, a leather jacket that Dallon insists you look hot in, some cool shoes that were some ungodly price, and a pair of jeans that apparently made your ass look superb.

 

Over the course of the next three months you do various modeling jobs here and there, most of them in either New York City or Los Angeles. You feel a little bad, but you have to travel a lot, and honestly, you don't like being away from Dallon or the kid for more than a few days once every few months or so. Dallon understands it, and the kid whines a little bit whenever you have to leave, but hey, you're _kind of_ starting a career.

 

The second week of November is the week Dallon has to go to New York for a meeting, and it's also the week of your death. Well, not really, but parent-teacher conferences are going on at the elementary school, and Dallon, usually, is the one who goes, but he isn't home this time, and you're the chosen one. The kid is fidgeting on the way to the school, and she looks a little sick, if you're honest.

You're a little early, and it gives you time to ask her what's wrong. “My teacher doesn't like me. She knows who my dad is, and she picks on me and she's _mean_ to me. I can't even do anything without her making a jab about my dad. She thinks I'm some spoiled brat, and she isn't wrong, but she shouldn't use that against me.” You're a little pissed now. (Actually, you're a lot pissed, but you're keeping your cool.)

“You're spoiled, but you're not a brat.”

 

She's right. The teacher is, essentially, a cunt. She even _looks_ like a cunt. You're fed a bunch of bullshit about how the kid isn't _asserting_ herself, even though you know she is. It's the same shit you were fed when you were in school, and honestly, you can tell a shitty teacher when you see one. “Assignments are just not getting done properly, not to mention _homework._ ” You resent the last part. You're the one who helps with homework. (Well, Dallon helps with math homework, because, hey, he sells stocks for a living, and you help with English and Social Studies.)

You take a bit of a deep breath. “Can I _see_ one of these assignments?” You're pulling Sarah's 'intimidating' pose, and looking the teacher directly in the eye. The assignment you're shown has a score of 5/10, and you read through it carefully. It was a work sheet for a novel that you'd read a thousand times, and you don't see anything wrong with the answers. You say as much, and you back your arguments up to leave little room for objection.

She makes a comment about the sentences not being correct as far as grammar and spelling go, and you _scoff._ “She's _nine._ Kids are bound to mess up. They can't be expected to be perfect. It's not like I was a genius growing up, and I'm assuming that you sure as hell weren't perfect either. Anyways, from what I can tell, grammar and spelling weren't the point of the assignment.”

The teacher goes on a long-winded rant about a bunch of trivial and irrelevant things. (Well, not so much of a rant, but more like she's feeding you more bullshit, and you have absolutely no patience whatsoever to deal with it.) You continue to just stare at her blankly, and once she stops talking, you're turned towards the kid, and nudging her arm. “What grade are you in?”

She holds up three fingers.

You end up chewing the teacher out and tearing her a new asshole. The kid is awestruck, you're livid, the teacher is embarrassed, and there's a group of parents and other children outside of the classroom looking at you, as if they're admiring you for having the balls to say something.

 

You end up sharing a pizza with the kid that night and watching some weird kid's show before it was bed-time. You end up falling asleep on the couch while watching Parks and Rec, and the next thing you know, you're being nudged awake. You grunt a little bit, and look up to see Dallon. He looks a little tired, and he sounds tired as he says, “Hey,” before sitting on the floor in front of the couch.

“I know my breath smells like shit,” _yawn,_ “but can I have a kiss?”

“Of course.” The kiss he gives you is sweet. “You should go to bed.”

“Give me incentive.”

“Well, I'm about to at least take a few hour nap, and I will _totally_ spoon you.”

“Can I put my cold feet on you?”

“I mean, that's kind of a given at this point.”


	24. Chapter 24

ONE // INTRODUCTION

 

josh doesn’t talk. at all. tyler isn’t sure if josh  _ can  _ talk, but he’s seen the boy use sign language, and to say he’s intrigued is an understatement. 

tyler specifically takes a class to learn american sign language at a college, even though he’s only sixteen, almost seventeen. he just  _ really  _ wants to talk to josh.

josh is cute. he’s tall, he’s handsome, and tyler feels like the older boy is probably, like, really nice. the only problem is that josh is kind of twenty five years old. just kind of. tyler figures he can work with it though.

you might ask how tyler even  _ knows  _ josh. josh hosts/is in charge of the GSA in tyler’s school. there’s some dumb regulation about needing an adult or a teacher to supervise, and somehow, somewhere, someone in the club just happened to know josh.

 

TWO

 

tyler shows up about thirty minutes early to the weekly GSA meeting so he can shakily sign out,  _ ‘hey, josh,’  _ to, y’know, josh.

josh looks impressed, and slowly signs back to tyler.  _ ‘hi, tyler. do you need something…?’ _

_ ‘two questions. one; are you deaf or mute or something…? i’m just curious. and two; am i allowed to hit on you and/or possibly ask you out on a date…?’ _

“i have a  _ lithp,  _ and  _ altho,”  _ josh goes back to signing;  _ ‘if i’m not mistaken, you’re seventeen. isn’t that kind of illegal…?’ _

“th-th-th-the uh, age of c-c-cons-s-sent in ohio is s-s-s-sixt-t-teen.”

_ ‘okay, uh. i’m trying to decide if it’s worth it to go on a date with you.’ _

_ ‘i don’t wanna sleep with you, dude. i just want to go get food and talk to you.’ _

_ ‘why?’ _

_ ‘you’re cute, i’m gay, and i don’t like any of the boys in my school. i’ve been teaching myself ASL just so i could talk to you, by the way.’ _

_ ‘seriously?’ _

_ ‘yes.’ _

_ ‘alright, alright. um. gimme your phone. i’ll write my number.’ _

 

THREE

 

“did you  _ seriously  _ ask josh on a  _ date?”  _ brendon looks at tyler incredulously, as if he were a shining example on morals.

tyler scribbles down his response in his notebook.  _ don’t give me that look. you fucked mr. weekes in his classroom while you were supposed to be getting tutored. that is illegal. _

“that’s beside the point, ty-guy. like, i know what i’m getting myself into by going after a married man in his thirties, but do you know what you’re doing with a twenty five year old…?”

_ josh is cute, alright? he texted me last night, and we talked for nearly five hours. he’s going to pick me up on saturday, and we’re going to go to rockies. i literally taught myself ASL so i could talk to him. _

“you don’t even know him.”

_ so? not like you know mr. weekes lol. also, that’s why i asked him on a date. i want to get to know him. i don’t like anyone in this school. _

 

FOUR

 

“i let a theventeen year old athk me on a date,” josh states as he plops down into a seat next to his best friend. 

“i fucked one of my students,” dallon counters with a shrug and a swig of scotch.

“dude, that’th thuper illegal.”

“he’s eighteen.”

“you have a  _ wife.” _

“that i’m divorcing.”

“are you divorthing her for the thtudent?”

“i’m divorcing her because i’m gay,  _ dick.” _

josh rolls his eyes.  _ ‘he’s sneaking out on saturday for the date. his parents are cool with the gay thing, but he doesn’t know if they’d be cool with the age difference. not like i could pass for a teenager. have you seen my beard?’ _

dallon takes another swig of scotch before replying. “yeah, and i think you should shave it.”

“i will do no thuch thing.”

 

FIVE

 

josh parks a few houses down from tyler’s, and he smiles politely at tyler when the boy taps on his car window. tyler signs,  _ ‘can i get in?’  _ and josh nods ‘ _ yes _ ’ to his request.

josh notices that tyler’s body is jerking ever so slightly, and that he’s blinking rapidly, so he asks, “you okay?”

“n-n-n-n-nerv-v-vous t-t-tics.”

“why are you nervouth?”

“s-so-soc-c-cial an-an-anx-xiety. also th-th-this is o-one of m-m-m-my f-first d-d-dates.”

 

SIX

 

josh and tyler don’t talk, physically, during their date. they sign to each other though.

_ ‘you’ve got a stutter, right?’ _

_ ‘not at all. i have no idea what you’re talking about.’ _

_ ‘haha, smart ass.’ _

_ ‘it’s worse if i’m nervous or anxious. how about your lisp?’ _

_ ‘i’ve always had it. speech therapy didn’t do much for me aside from making me cry.’  _ josh rolls his eyes and smirks a bit.  _ ‘i think it’s cute that you learned ASL just for me.’ _

_ ‘i mean, i kinda needed to know it anyways, but you’re good motivation.’ _

_ ‘true, true. so, what’s your favorite movie?’ _

_ ‘heathers, and why do you ask?’ _

_ ‘thinking about planning a second date. is heathers on netflix?’ _

_ ‘yeah, it is. that’s why i watch it.’ _

_ ‘cool. i’ll text you about it after i bring you home.’ _

_ ‘awesome. what’s  _ your  _ favorite movie?’ _

_ ‘hm. fight club, i think. i just really like it. it’s so good. i like the book a lot too.’ _

_ ‘oh, oh, man, what’s your favorite book?’ _

_ ‘fahrenheit 451. i had to read it last year for a project, and i just fucking love it.’ _

josh grins happily.  _ ‘dude! me too. i love that book. i had to read it too. it’s my frickin’ favorite.’ _

tyler wiggles his eyebrows at josh a few minutes after their food arrives at their table.  _ ‘wanna make out in your car after this?’ _

and josh rolls his eyes.  _ ‘maybe. i need to get you home before curfew, though.’ _

_ ‘it’s barely eight, and curfew is at midnight. why’d you agree to this?’ _

_ ‘i suppose i’m desperate. i haven’t gone out with anyone in months. figured we could at least be friends or something.’ _

_ ‘or something?’ _

_ ‘you’re cheeky, tyler.’ _

 

SEVEN

 

after making out with tyler for a good hour in the back seat of his car, josh decides that tyler joseph is definitely on the path to ruining his life. he’s some unstoppable force of nature, and he’s so dangerously likeable. he’s like a hurricane destined to make landfall across the east coast of josh’s life.

he’s so warm, and soft, and his lips--they’re almost addicting. his mouth and tongue taste like bubblegum, and josh assumes he’d chewed a piece before kissing him.

they’d parked in the parking lot of a mcdonald’s, and either of them laughed every time they had to duck down to avoid being seen by prying eyes.

 

EIGHT

 

**tyler:** can i talk to you? i’m really upset with my dad and one of my brothers right now.

**josh:** yeah. are you okay?

**tyler:** i’m good. i’ll explain what happened

**tyler:** you know i stutter. i didn’t start doing that until i was about 14 because high school just stressed me out really bad yknow? its just some nervous reaction to everything and like it just got worse ig

**tyler:** i got into it w/my dad and i just. he yelled at me and told me to stop stuttering like thanks dick! i cant just stop stuttering? i feel so stupid for stuttering and him throwing it in my face like that rly pissed me off.

**tyler:** so i went to go vent to my little brother (hes 15) and hes kind of a dick but he can be nice and i trusted him but he told me dad was right like fuck you zack 

**josh:** im sorry about that :( is there anything i can do to help…?

**tyler:** unless you're willing to buy me alcohol then probably not. i just wanted to get that all off my chest.

**josh:** i understand. i used to get made fun of in high school for lisping.

**tyler:** i like ur lisp. like im sure it makes things difficult for you but it’s cute.

 

NINE

 

the next GSA meeting is only slightly awkward. tyler pretends not to know josh, and he pretends not to see the squinting eyes kind of look that brendon keeps giving him.

josh usually doesn’t participate in the meetings, but rather opts for sitting at the teacher’s desk in the room, on his phone, while everyone else talks and hangs out.

tyler, usually, sits with one of the art kids, one of the choir kids, and one of the theater kids, plus pete. pete’s the sport kid. tyler  _ would  _ be a basketball kid, but he quit the team after he’d gotten hazed for being outed as gay.

they’re all talking today, while tyler sits a little too far away to join in on the conversation, opting to text josh instead.

 

**tyler:** what are you doing tonight

**josh:** working, romeo.

**tyler:** ew. what do u do

**josh:** i fix computers & phones & stuff. working on applying for things with better pay & that involve using my degree

**tyler:** ooh an educated man. i see i made the right choice in hitting on you.

**josh:** for all you know i could have a degree in english or something lame like that.

**tyler:** but you dont, do you?

**josh:** computer engineering.

**tyler:** be my sugar daddy

**josh:** get a degree and be ur own sugar daddy. also do not ever call me daddy.

 

**_tyler has set josh’s nickname to daddy._ **

 

**daddy:** you’re the worst smh

 

**_daddy has set tyler’s nickname to sugar baby._ **

 

**sugar baby** **_:_ ** omg “dont call me daddy” yET YOU GO ALONG WITH IT

**daddy:** wcyd.

 

“tyler, dude, who is daddy?”

“... n-n-no one im-im-im-p-p-p-portant,” tyler says, carefully, looking at ashley.

“daddy is always someone important, ty. you don’t call just anyone daddy.”

“it’s a g-g-guy i’ve b-b-b-been t-t-talking t-too.”

“i’m taking you to lunch today. i want the tea.”

“d-d-do y-you kn-know ASL?”

“uh, yeah, actually.” ashley blinks, looking a little surprised.

_ ‘cool, alright. i have trouble talking.’ _

“that’s chill, man. i’m going to meet you outside of your english class.”

 

TEN

 

as promised, ashley is waiting for tyler outside of his english class, and she walks him to the office so they can sign out.

on the way, tyler’s phone buzzes with a message, so he answers it while walking.

 

**daddy:** wyd for lunch

**sugar baby:** one of my friends is taking me to taco bell

**daddy:** ohh okay :( i was gonna offer to take you out.

**sugar baby:** tomorrow or next week? :)

**daddy:** next week. i’m busy on fridays, sorry. :(

**sugar baby:** its ok! :)

 

“are you texting  _ daddy _ again?” ashley raises her eyebrows and elbows tyler gently.

_ ‘he’s not my daddy,’  _ tyler signs slowly.

“mhm. sure, man.”

_ ‘you’re an ass.’ _

 

ELEVEN

 

ashley and tyler sit in her car, eating, when she asks who  _ daddy  _ is.

_ ‘josh.’ _

“no fucking way. he would  _ never-” _

_ ‘he gave me hickeys and took me to rockies on a date last saturday.’ _

“are you  _ seriously  _ dating him?” she looks so  _ shocked,  _ and surprised, and tyler snorts.

_ ‘no. we don’t know each other that well. we’re gonna get lunch next thursday, and i think we might go on another date on saturday.’ _

“how old is he anyways? i know he’s over twenty one, since he supervises the GSA.”

_ ‘twenty five.’ _

“tyler, he’s so old.”

_ ‘brendon fucked one of the teachers.’ _

her eyes widen and she thwacks tyler in the arm. “no way--which one?”

_ ‘weekes.’ _

“oh, that’s  _ so  _ illegal.”

_ ‘right?’ _

 

TWELVE

 

“you’re thure your parenth think you’re at brendon’th houthe?” josh asks to clarify as tyler gets into his car.

the boy nods.  _ ‘yep. brendon and his parents both know to cover my ass.’ _

“awethome.”

_ ‘where are we going?’ _

“i want to thurprithe you, but i thupothe i could tell you.” 

_ ‘yeah, man.’ _

_ ‘okay, i know it’s, like, february, but if you’re cool with it, i’m driving us to cleveland, and i have a portable dvd player, so we can watch heathers and a few other movies near lake erie.’ _

_ ‘so, you’re hesitant about being  _ with  _ me, but you’re literally doing something, like, really romantic…?’  _ tyler raises his eyebrows. 

josh shrugs, and leans over to kiss tyler on the lips. he pulls away just an inch to say, “i’m a romantic. bite me,” before pecking tyler on the lips.  _ ‘i just figure if i’m going to regularly take you on dates, then i might as well not half-ass it, y’know?’ _

“tr-tr-true. true.”

 

THIRTEEN

 

tyler sits between josh’s legs in the back seat with his back against his chest, and the portable dvd player balanced on his knees. josh runs his fingers over tyler’s head, which is freshly shaved, and, usually, tyler would be bothered, but he finds it endearing, mostly since he’s sure josh does it without really thinking.

josh kisses the top of tyler's head once in awhile, and ends up throwing his left arm over tyler’s shoulder. tyler holds josh’s hand, and, eventually, he finds himself dozing off, head lolling once in awhile against josh’s chest.

josh notices that tyler keeps trying to wake himself up, so he ends up tugging the boy’s head back to his chest, saying, “just thleep for awhile, man. i’ll wake you up in a bit before i head back to columbuth.”

tyler just nods and rolls over a little bit to get more comfortable, and josh just rubs his back out of reflex.

 

FOURTEEN

 

“tyler, you need to wake up,” josh whispers.

tyler whines but nods. “you gotta force me or i’m not gonna wake up.”

“i’ll… kith you? ith bribing a pothibility?”

“maybe,” tyler mumbles.

“you aren’t thtuttering.”

“i usually don’t if m’sleepy,” he mumbles.

“lucky,” josh mutters playfully. josh nudges tyler until the boy sits up. 

tyler points towards the front seat and tries to put a curious expression on his face. josh just nods before he opens the back door and steps out to walk around to the driver’s seat.

josh starts the car once tyler’s in the passenger's seat, and tyler stops him before he’s about to start driving. “you p-p-pr-rom-m-m-mised a k-k-k-kiss.”

_ ‘i suppose i did.’  _ josh leans over and tyler smiles and melts into the kiss. josh can pretty much physically feel himself being soothed by tyler, and it makes his heart flutter a bit. 

 

FIFTEEN

 

“talk to me about the date,” ashley whispers a little too loudly as she leans across the lunch table on monday.

brendon continues picking at his salad, only raising his eyebrows a bit.

tyler shrugs, and signs,  _ ‘it was there.’ _

“what?” brendon frowns now and looks at tyler weirdly.

tyler sighs and pulls a notebook from his bag.

_ i said ‘it was there’ in sign language. _

“oh.” he shrugs. “ash, you should translate.”

“you should learn sign language.”

“yes, ashley, i’ll just teach myself sign language in half an hour.”

she rolls her eyes and tells tyler just to sign to her, and tells brendon he’s out of luck.

_ ‘we drove to cleveland and parked close enough to lake erie to see it, and we watched movies in his car. we made out a little bit, and i fell asleep on him, then he took me to his apartment and i slept on his couch until he woke me up so he could take me home in the morning.’ _

“how long have you even  _ known  _ him?”

_ ‘officially it’s been about a week and a half. he said if he was going to regularly take me out on dates then he may as well not half-ass it. he’s really sweet.’ _

“sounds like it.”

“he’s talking about josh, ain’t he? he’s got that dumb look on his face. also, he’s too old for you tyler.”

ashley rolls her eyes to the back of her head. “you’re one to talk mister ‘i fucked my thirty five year old english teacher.’”

tyler giggles and hides his face when brendon glares. “that’s different.”

tyler asks, “how?”

“it just is.” brendon’s defensive, meaning--

“y-you h-ha-have a cr-cr-crush on him d-don’t y-you?”

and at that, brendon gets up and leaves.

 

SIXTEEN

 

on tuesday, brendon knocks on tyler’s door, and after being invited in by his parents, he makes his way to tyler’s bedroom.

tyler’s just on his laptop, totally not messaging josh on skype when brendon barges in. “when d-did you g-get here?”

“few minutes ago. i walked from dallon’s house. kinda hoping i could borrow clothes and go to school with you tomorrow…?” he grins awkwardly, and tyler just waves towards his closet.

brendon’s shameless about getting dressed in front of tyler, and, honestly, tyler is used to it. 

“who’s d-d-dal-l-lon?”

“mr. weekes.”

tyler scoffs and manages to say, “you went to his  _ house?!”  _ without stuttering.

“yep. that’s why i’m here. i wanna talk about it.”

“g-good or b-b-bad?”

“good? i think. nothing bad happened.” brendon’s in a pair of tyler’s flannel pants and one of his t-shirts by the time he says this, and he crawls onto tyler’s bed and tugs him away from his laptop.

“th-this is k-k-kinda kinda kinda kinda gay.”

“shush, ty,” brendon commands quietly as he tucks himself into his best friend’s side. 

tyler shuts his laptop and sets it on the floor, figuring he can explain himself to josh later. “y-you sl-slept w-w-with him d-d-didn’t you?”

“yep. i panicked and left right afterwards, though, so you get to deal with my cuddling.”

“why me, man?”

“you’re my best friend and i get real sensitive after sex? i just wanna cuddle, bro. don’t make it weird.”

_ “you’re  _ m-making it w-weird.”

“sh.”

“talk t-to m-me, b.”

“he’s getting a divorce from his wife. not for me or anything, but because he’s gay. we like… it was the first time we  _ really  _ had a chance to go at it, and i felt like… i dunno. emotional. i’m afraid i’m just some tight young ass to him. i’m getting attached. it’s scary.”

“is th-there m-m-m-more?”

“yeah. i dunno. i can’t believe i’m falling for my fucking english teacher. i can’t  _ believe  _ i like him. i just wanted to add a teacher to my list of fucks, but i started getting to know him, and i’m serious--it’s  _ scary. _ i didn’t even like  _ sarah  _ this much.”

“why weekes?”

“he’s handsome, he’s nice, he’s smart, and he doesn’t make me feel like an idiot like most other adults do. he’s respectful and he’s funny in this really nerdy and dweeby way and my heart does the thing whenever i see him. if whatever i got with him lasts beyond high school, and if i ever get to introduce him to my parents, they’re going to have a  _ fit.” _

“he’s almost tw-twice y-your age, bro.”

“seventeen years older. i turn nineteen in april. i’m a little glad i got held back in kindergarten  _ and  _ first grade.”

“you’re a grandpa.”

“how’s it goin’ with josh?”

“s’okay. w-w-we’re gonna eat l-l-l-lunch together on th-th-thursday after GSA.”

 

SEVENTEEN

 

**daddy:** i caught a cold. i can’t bring lunch.

**baby boy:** thats ok! are you alright?

**daddy:** mhm. just kind of emotional and miserable. i’ll be good by monday probably. do you have plans next saturday…?

**baby boy:** probably not! you gonna take me on another date?

**daddy:** i guess if you wanna consider it one. i was hoping we could just hang out and keep the gay to a minimum? it’s still hockey season so idk do u wanna go to a hockey game?

**baby boy:** i haven’t ever been to a hockey game before

**daddy:** omg i fucking love hockey pardon my french. we are going. it’s really fun. be sure to bring a jacket and gloves though because it tends to be pretty cold.

**baby boy:** omg ok. i gotta make sure i have permission to “go to brendons house” but it sounds fun.

 

EIGHTEEN

 

tyler crawls out of his window and almost runs to where josh had parked his car the last few times the seventeen year old had snuck out. as expected, josh is there, waiting for him, and tyler’s smiling dumbly.

the boy gets into the car, and once josh starts driving, he says, “we need to have a talk after the game.”

“what k-k-k-kind of t-t-talk?”

“relathionthip thtuff. age differenthe thtuff.”

“s-s-so th-this is a-a-all a s-s-setup to c-c-corner m-m-m-me?”

“not nethetharily. i do wanna hang out with you, but we need to talk before thingth go any further.”

tyler nods because, hey, josh is right.

 

NINETEEN

 

“you thmoke?” josh asks as he flips the top on a pack of cigarettes.

tyler holds his hand out, and josh hands him a cigarette before lighting it for him. they roll the windows down, and don’t start talking until either of their cigarettes are gone.

josh is the first to sign something to tyler.  _ ‘how serious should i take you? are we going to just be fuck buddies or something serious?’ _

_ ‘i kind of like you? at the very least i want to be your friend. hopefully more than that.’ _

_ ‘alright. are you sure? about me? i’m just afraid that there’s going to be some weird maturity imbalance. the biggest age difference i’ve had with a partner before was two years.’ _

tyler shrugs.  _ ‘i’m just tired of high school guys because we’re all immature and full of internalized homophobia. you know who you are and what you’re about, or you at least have a better sense of it than teenagers do. also you’re a total gentleman.’ _

“you’re a high thchool guy, tyler. i’m an adult.”

“i kn-kn-know th-that,  _ josh.”  _ tyler gives him a look. “i just…” he sighs. “i’m t-tired of d-d-dr-ram-m-ma drama. drama. fuck.”

_ ‘how experienced are you with relationships?’  _ josh asks with a curious look on his face.

_ ‘i’ve either dated or slept with most of the guys in the GSA club, and i’ve been with a bunch of other guys  _ and  _ girls in the school.’ _

_ ‘i mean an actual relationship. not just a quick fuck or a one month fling.’ _

_ ‘not very, then,’  _ tyler admits a little sheepishly.

_ ‘nothing long term?’ _

_ ‘nope. brendon’s the most long term i’ve had, but we’re best friends anyways.’ _

_ ‘gotcha. i’m going to take you home now, and we can talk on skype or something later.’ _

_ ‘alright, man.’ _

 

TWENTY

 

**tyler:** hockey was pretty fun

**josh:** im glad you liked it :) ill take you again some time

**tyler:** pls do i was really happy the whole time

 

tyler smiles down at his phone before turning the screen off and smushing his smiling face into his pillow. he turns his head after a few seconds so he won't asphyxiate, and so he can look at his phone again.

 

**josh:** i’m a real people pleaser. youre gonna learn that about me :P 

**tyler:** well i already expect you to treat me like gods gift to this earth so thats good

**josh:** omg. theres a difference between being polite/nice/a decent person and worshipping you, bro.

**tyler:** well if u arent gonna worship me then what am i doin w/you 

**josh:**  give me long enough and i probably will. i have a tendency to do that w/people i REALLY like.

**tyler:** u gotta stop making me blush

**josh:** youre so tiiiinyyy

 

TWENTY ONE

 

the thursday after josh had taken tyler to hockey, the younger of the two shows up to the weekly GSA meeting a good ten minutes early so he could have a bit to calm himself down.

josh doesn’t question him, but rather goes back to using his phone, figuring that tyler could take care of himself, and not realizing the boy was indirectly trying to get josh to talk him down.

josh doesn’t get that something’s  _ up  _ until brendon’s speed-walking into the room and tugging tyler into the hall to talk to him.

brendon comes back, yanking tyler along, and taps josh on the shoulder with his knuckles.

there’s a few other students in the room, so he keeps his voice down when he says, “when he has his head down and if he’s doing the twitching thing, then he needs  _ help.  _ don’t just  _ sit there." _

“why do you ethpect  _ me  _ to do thomething?” josh whispers back to him.

brendon gives him a pointed look.  _ “you’re  _ his boyfriend. you should know.”

josh snaps his fingers at tyler, and signs,  _ ‘did you tell him that i’m your  _ boyfriend _?’  _ at him with a slightly pissed off look on his face.

_ ‘no. he just assumed because we’ve been on a few dates.’ _

“i’m not hith  _ boyfriend.”  _

“but you’re  _ dating _ him, so step up.”

“fuck, alright, thorry.” josh makes a slight face out of distaste, before going back to paying attention to his phone as brendon drags tyler back to where he’d been sitting.

 

**brendon:** he’s a dick tyler

**tyler:** he doesnt even know i had a panic attack because i didn’t tell him.

**brendon:** he should be asking if you’re okay not being all like ‘he’s not my boyfriend’

**tyler:** i cant even legally be w/him i think? you’re almost 19. im 17.

**tyler:** also do you think dallon would out his relationship with you in front of a bunch of people who might tattle?

**brendon:** he’s my teacher. josh is just some guy who’s in the school for a few hours a week.

**tyler:** fuck off? i didnt ask for you to crawl up my ass. also youve been fucking around with dallon for months now ive been talking to josh for like three weeks he’s not going to know what i do when i have panic attacks.

**tyler:** also he just sent me a message on facebook so eat me, urie.

 

tyler socks brendon in the arm before opening the chat with josh.

 

**daddy :** are you alright? i didnt know you needed ‘help’ (idk what brendon meant by that)

**baby boy:** had a presentation last period. dont worry. i didnt tell you so idk what me or b expected.

**daddy:** what happened during the presentation? :(

**baby boy:** take me out to lunch and i’ll tell you? :)

**daddy:** why not just tell me now

**baby boy:** please? :( give me at least a while to just cool down. you can wait in your car for me to be done w/english and i can sign myself out & in since im a junior.

**daddy:** lunch isnt long so we have to eat nearby. or i can go get something while you’re in english.

**baby boy:** spoil me.

**daddy:** what do you want to eat?

**baby boy:** what are you willing to buy me?

**daddy:** whatever you want. within reason. 

**baby boy:** mcdonald’s? 

**daddy:** ok but what do you want

**baby boy:** 20 pc chicken nugget, 1 big mac, a large order of fries, the biggest chocolate milkshake you can buy, and… i think i could also for a chicken wrap. crispy? not grilled.

**daddy:** ok im not judging but how the fuck are you going to eat all that

**baby boy:** ill probably eat the big mac & the chicken wrap and drink the milkshake but the rest is going in my locker for after school

**daddy:** hm. alright. i usually park in the visitors space closest to the building btw.

**baby boy:** you’re the best <3<3<3

 

TWENTY TWO

 

“tho, i jutht thpent about thirty dollarth on you,” josh drawls out, almost playfully.

tyler nods and holds up a finger before swallowing a bite of chicken wrap. he turns in the seat to face josh.  _ ‘my voice isn’t wanting to work. i tried in english but it didn’t… work out.’ _

“alright.” josh motions for him to go on.

_ ‘i was supposed to be excused from a presentation in psychology, but we had a sub, and she forced me to give my presentation. i couldn’t make it past the first slide and a few people were starting to laugh at me. i don’t like being laughed at. brendon’s in that class with me and watched my downfall. it’s why  _ he  _ was upset.’ _

“fuck your thub,” josh remarks as he crumples up the wrapper for a small hamburger, and before he pulls out his own order of fries.

_ ‘right?! ugh. you know what i need? a nap, and some dick.’ _

“i can’t give you thome dick, but if you want, we can hang out thith weekend…?” josh subconsciously leans towards tyler as he turns his head.

tyler rolls his eyes.  _ ‘lame. i’ll see if i can get permission to go to b’s house or something. i gotta go so i have enough time to get my shit put away. kiss?’ _

“we’re at your thchool, bro. thomeone could thee.”

_ ‘c’mon, man.’ _

“thave it for the weekend. you can kith me all you want then, alright?”

tyler sighs and considers josh, before nodding.  _ ‘alright, romeo. i’ll text you tonight.’ _

 

TWENTY THREE

 

“he said you can kiss him all you want? that’s so cute. does he have a house or something?”

_ ‘apartment. a nice apartment. a  _ really  _ nice apartment. you know those lofts in that skyscraper downtown? he lives in one of them.’ _

ashley’s eyes widen incredulously. “wh-- _ how?!  _ what the fuck? he’s practically a baby.”

_ ‘he’s an engineer, dude. he has an okay job at some computer parts store, and he said something about doing some independant stuff for a few big companies. he’s--he’s fuckin… loaded.’ _

“i can see why you like him. christ.” ashley shakes her head and stubs her cigarette out in the ash tray in her car.

_ ‘i like him because he’s cool. that stuff doesn’t matter. he has his shit together.’ _

“so are you going over there to play house?”

_ ‘i’m going to hang out. i had a panic attack yesterday and i’m pretty sure he’s trying to be a good friend. he works on weekdays so the weekend was the only option. he’s picking me up after school today and pete’s covering for me if my mom decides to check up on me.’ _

“makes sense. what does being a good friend mean?” she’s giving tyler a suggestive look, and he almost groans out loud at her.

_ ‘it means watching movies and talking and just… enjoying each other's company, okay? it’s not that deep.’ _

she’s skeptical, but she drops it.

 

TWENTY FOUR

 

josh picks tyler up from school a few hours after ashley’s talk with tyler that friday. tyler grins when he sees josh’s car, and tries not to get too giddy.

josh allows tyler to at least hug him, and tyler’s honestly over the moon at the minimal amount of PDA. he knows josh isn’t huge on PDA, given the circumstances, but a hug wasn’t going too far, apparently.

_ ‘how was school?” _

_ ‘it was there. ashley bought me lunch, and teased me about you.’ _

_ ‘i don’t think it’s too safe for you to be telling people about us, dude.’ _

_ ‘next to brendon, ash is my best friend, and she knows when i’m keeping shit from her. her, brendon, and pete are the only ones who know and it’s out of necessity. i think mr. weekes might know, but it’s because brendon’s been fucking around with him.’ _

_ ‘wait, weekes? as in dallon?’ _

_ ‘yeah, actually.’ _

_ ‘oh my god. he’s  _ my  _ best friend. fucking brendon.’  _ josh groans and scrubs his hands down his face.  _ ‘ugh. it’s not as if we’re sleeping together, but i still worry. i’m sorry.’ _

_ ‘it’s fine. i know where you’re coming from. i get it.’ _

_ ‘alright, uh, we should probably get going. wanna get home before traffic gets too bad.’ _

tyler gives him a thumbs up.

 

TWENTY FIVE

 

josh’s apartment looks the same as it did when tyler was last there a few weeks ago. the ceilings are high, and the rooms are spacious. his furniture looks spendy and tyler almost moans once he’s able to flop onto the couch. josh makes a comment, and tyler just says, “b-b-b-bite m-m-me; had a l-l-long d-day.”

“i, uh, have thome work to do, by the way. you can watch TV or thomething.” josh points towards the remote. “i’ll make dinner later.”

tyler’s head shoots up and he squints.  _ ‘why work? you said i could kiss you all i want, and i want.’ _

“gotta pay my rent thomehow, dude.”

tyler whines and makes grabby hands towards josh. the older man huffs and steps towards him, allowing tyler to tug him down to kiss him. tyler keeps him there for a few minutes, just kissing him and basking in the affection until josh pulls away, saying, “if i don’t thtop now, i’m going to thtay here like thith all night.”

“c-c’mon, man. l-live a lit-lit-little.”

“i have deadlineth.”

tyler makes a face but lets go of him.  _ “fiiine.” _

 

TWENTY SIX

 

“why do you thneak out all the time?” josh asks kinda sleepily later in the evening as tyler works on homework.

_ ‘parents are overbearing and my siblings don’t leave me alone, and i’m in my rebellious phase still.’ _

“how are they overbearing?” josh props his head up with his arm.

_ ‘they just are. dad yells, mom drinks, dad cheats, mom acts like nothing’s wrong, and… yeah. i prefer being out than stuck with them.’ _

“oh.”

_ ‘what are your parents like?’ _

“real  _ nice. _ ” josh enunciates on the ‘s’ noise, and tyler raises a brow. “mom’th a nurthe, and alwayth lookth out for family. dad’th kind of goofy, and awkward, but he meanth well.”

_ ‘they sound nice, j. you gonna… introduce me?’  _ tyler wiggles his eyebrows.

_ ‘give it a few years, pal. they’d probably skin me if i showed up with a seventeen year old.’ _

 

TWENTY SEVEN

 

tyler spends his weekend with josh kissing the man almost relentlessly, and getting to know him. josh is still a little mysterious, but tyler is persistent.

josh falls off the face of the earth for a few weeks, and tyler doesn’t hear from him until he gets a sudden message on facebook sometime in early april.

 

**josh:** hey

**tyler:** where the fuck have you been

**josh:** busy.

**tyler:** too busy to warn me before you basically disappear????????

**josh:** i had shit i had to do? i got a better job and had to travel home for a family thing. you arent even my boyfriend lol

**tyler:** oh but you’ll take me out to dinner and youll let me sleep at your apartment and youll buy me forty dollar lunches and you can make me like you but you cant at least give me a heads up so i dont worry myself???

**josh:** no i cant. look if you want ill do something with you this weekend to make up for it ok?

**tyler:** no.

**josh:** tyler cmon

**tyler:** no, josh. i’m going somewhere else this weekend.

**josh:** right. where?

**tyler:** like you said! we aren’t even boyfriends.

 

“oh, tyler, you just fucking destroyed him,” brendon whispers from his place behind tyler.

tyler shrugs and turns his phone screen off before tossing it onto the floor. he digs out a notebook and scribbles down a question for brendon. 

_ does dallon ever pull shit like that? _

“no. it’s not like he really does anything anyways…? he’s a teacher. teacher wages suck. josh acts kind of… holier than thou.”

_ i don’t know what his deal is. i mean idk what i expected but maybe at least an ‘im sorry for making you worry!’ _

“if he supervises GSA this week instead of dallon or ms. black, i’ll kick his ass for you.”

_ don’t start shit with him please. if i see him i’ll probably use my free period for something else. josh is making me feel like i’m just some like… something he can come to whenever he pleases. _

“i doubt he thinks like that. if you’re really worried maybe you should ask dallon about it…? they’re friends. good friends. maybe josh just had something bad happen. it’s not like he really  _ knows  _ you, or vice versa.”

 

TWENTY EIGHT

 

tyler waits until after school the next day to approach mr. weekes. he has to basically drag brendon out of the room by his ear and takes a few minutes to stutter out a, “i need to talk to him,” before going back in and tapping the teacher on the shoulder.

tyler doesn’t like dallon. it’s not that he’s a bad guy, because he really isn’t once you look past the fact that he was having an affair with his eighteen year old student for over four months, but he’s just… intimidating.

he’s tall and a little too smooth, and he just gives off this really weird vibe that makes tyler squirm. he’s a nice guy, though. he really is.

anyways, present time, tyler’s tapping the man on his shoulder, and slowly signs,  _ ‘can i talk to you about something?’ _

he holds up a finger and finishes reading whatever he’s reading before telling tyler to take a seat somewhere. “do you need help with an assignment?”

_ ‘um. no. it’s something personal…? i don’t, like, know if i’m allowed to ask for advice, but considering you’re fucking my best friend and that you’re best friends with the guy i kinda like, i figured i could talk to you…?’ _

he clicks his tongue and props his feet up on his desk as he leans back in his chair. “josh’s brother tried killing himself. that’s why he went home. if he’s what you wanted to talk about, that is.”

_ ‘oh. well, i feel like an asshole now.’ _ tyler picks at a nail, and dallon sighs quietly.

“listen, josh doesn’t like opening up to people, and he’s a little wary about even  _ talking _ to you for obvious reasons. don’t, like, expect too much from him right away. you’re a kid still. he’s an adult.”

_ ‘how do you and brendon even work? how come the two of you don’t have issues?’ _

dallon scrubs a hand down his face and sighs even louder. he switches to sign language while he explains himself.  _ ‘we have issues, trust me. he was buddy-buddy with me for a while before anything happened, so we already kind of knew each other. we were just fuck buddies for a while, and it’s… it’s only barely starting to get… serious, i suppose. i’m getting a different job next year, mostly to cover my ass just in case someone found out about us. you’ve only known josh since the middle of february. don’t try comparing  _ that  _ to what i have with mister urie.’ _

_ ‘he’s my best friend--’ _

_ ‘and he turns nineteen in a week. you turn eighteen in eight months. you can’t  _ have  _ anything with josh until then. the only thing about brendon that makes what we have illegal is the fact that i am, or was one of his teachers. look, if you want, i can try putting in a good word for you.’ _

_ ‘i don’t need you to be my mouthpiece. i’ll talk to him myself.’ _

“alrighty then.” dallon claps his hands together, then shoos tyler out of the room before tugging brendon back in.

tyler sighs and decides to text josh to ask him for a ride home.

 

TWENTY NINE

 

**josh:** why can’t you walk or ask someone else?

**tyler:** brendon’s w/dallon and ash already left and i should probably apologize to you in person.

**josh:** i’m in cincinnati. its gonna take me a few hours to get there.

**tyler:** i can wait?

**josh:** i can’t. i would if i was in columbus i really would.

**tyler:** why are you on cincinnati 

**tyler:** dallon told me about your brother by the way. sorry about him.

**josh:** well dallons a snitch

**josh:** i bought something on craigslist. go tell dallon to take you home/worry about getting his dick sucked later & ill see you on thursday & _ hopefully  _ this weekend if youre done being a dick.

 

THIRTY

 

josh jumps when one of his new coworkers, who also doubles as his ex-girlfriend, walks up to him while he’s in the middle of texting tyler, whose nickname had been set to  **_cutie ._ **

“i see you’ve already moved on,” debby says with a mostly sarcastic sigh. “new girlfriend?”

josh looks up from his phone and squints at her for only a split second. “jutht friendth right now.”

“just friends?” perfectly filed acrylic nails tap on josh’s desk, and red, glossy lips form into a smirk. “remember when we were just friends?”

“mhm. vividly.” josh doesn’t look up from the paper he’s now skimming, and still doesn’t look up when he’s pulling out a few sketches from a drawer in his desk. “could you get your ath off my dethk? i’m working.”

she sighs, saying, “i  _ suppose,”  _ before sliding off and back onto the floor, “but if you’re working, why are you texting?”

“um.” josh tries to find a way to explain that tyler, his potential boyfriend, is sitting in his world history class, trying to distract himself from a shitty teacher. “emothional thupport.”

“her name on facebook is  _ cutie.  _ you don’t call lady friends cutie. hate to be the one to push that agenda. what’s your nickname?”

josh shakes his head, not saying anything up until she whines and tells him to tell her what it is. “daddy. it’th daddy.”

she lets out a wheezing laugh. “she’s one of those girls?”

“i… gueth.” he shrugs. “why are you  _ so nosy?” _

“god, don’t force yourself to speak like that. you sound weird. anyways, once upon a time we were totally in love, so i have a…  _ special interest  _ in you. how old is she?”

josh doesn’t answer.

“judging by the pissy look on your face, she's either younger than you, or she’s really old.”

_ “he  _ ith theventeen, and i’m gay, deb.”

she gasps, and josh is about to kick her out of his office, but his boss ends up doing it for him before giving him a task to complete.

 

THIRTY ONE

 

“so, j-j-j-josh, how are y-y-you gon-gonna make this all up to m-m-me?” tyler just about whispers into josh’s neck as he’s tugging the man into the back seat of his car.

every fiber in josh is screaming at him that this isn’t a good idea, but the feeling of lips on his neck, hands running under his shirt, eventually pulling it off, and legs bracketing his hips has him saying, “whatever you want, thweetheart,” with confidence that’s unbefitting of him. 

tyler is provocative, sinful in his body language, drawing josh closer, somehow seeming to know josh can’t resist him when it comes down to it. to himself, at least, josh will admit that tyler is just so fucking  _ tempting,  _ and, alright, that’s a hand on his dick.

the more turned on josh gets the less he’s able to process until there’s a seventeen year old straddling him, bouncing on his dick, and kissing him almost desperately, moaning and whining.

 

THIRTY TWO

 

josh disappears again, this time for a month, and tyler isn’t as mad at him this time, for whatever reason. one week, he’s at the GSA meeting, and tyler grips his arm tight enough to hurt before dragging him through the hall and to the front of the school.

the wind messes up josh’s hair, and effectively turns tyler’s face cold. temperature wise, at least. “i just want to know-- _ what the fuck?”  _ tyler says it slowly, pausing once in awhile, and enunciating as to not stutter.

_ ‘i don’t have an excuse. i haven’t… been close to anyone in a long time.’ _

_ ‘that doesn’t fucking mean you disappear and ignore me for a month after fucking me in the back seat of your shitty fucking car.’  _ tyler shoves josh back, and josh doesn’t put up a fight.  _ ‘you can’t just do that. you can’t just leave because you’re freaked out. what if i disappeared for a fucking month? would you even care?’ _

_ ‘i’d like to say i’d let you go, but i'd probably be pretty worried.’ _

_ ‘i really wish i hated you.’ _

_ ‘i’ve only been out of the closet for a one or two years, tyler. i haven’t dated any guys, i haven’t  _ fucked  _ any, and i’m not experienced in this shit. i’ve had three girlfriends, all of which dumped me because i didn’t reciprocate the feeling. you’re cute and you’re nice and i haven’t been given any attention or received any affection in a long time. it just scares me, okay?’ _

_ ‘why didn’t you fucking tell me then?’  _ tyler’s tearing up, simply from being overwhelmed. josh goes to hug him, and tyler tries pushing him away, but eventually gives in and lets josh embrace him in his kindasorta muscular arms.

“i’m thorry. i am. i’ll try to do better, alright? we’re thtill friendth.”

‘i g-g-g-guess. fuck.”

“let’th go back inthide. i’ll take you out again thith weekend, and i promithe not to freak out again.”

 

THIRTY THREE

 

**daddy:** do you got any hobbies

**cutie:** you’re sitting next to me, j.

**daddy:** i know. i’m too lazy to sign and i’m having trouble talking today

**cutie:** i write

**daddy:** what kind of stuff?

**cutie:** stories, mostly. i’ve tried poetry and song writing but i cant get the hang of it. i want to be an author in the future.

**daddy:** that’s cool honestly

**cutie:** i guess. im thinking about self publishing once i turn eighteen.

**daddy:** what do you wanna do after high school?

**cutie:** i want to get the fuck out of columbus. i’m gonna get a part time job and save up enough money, then i think i’m gonna just leave. been making vague plans to move to cali, new york, or seattle with brendon but i feel like he's going to stay here bc of dallon lol.

**daddy:** ahh. idk if its a possibility but dont stay here because of me.

**cutie:** conceited

**daddy:** i’m just looking out for ya. anywaaays as long as you’re here, i might as well cook dinner for you.

**cutie:** do you know how to make lasagna? i’ve been jonesing lately.

**daddy:** i’ll look up a recipe :) if it turns out bad we can just go somewhere or order something

 

THIRTY FOUR

 

the weekend spent at josh’s house is a good one for tyler. they kiss a lot, slowly and sweetly, but mostly they just watch tv, with tyler somehow getting josh to cuddle with him.

tyler shares josh’s bed with him that weekend too, since he’s trying to somehow help josh in his own weird and intimate way, and probably around two in the morning, josh starts up a deep conversation.

“can i tell you thomething?”

josh continues when he feels tyler nodding against his chest.

“i grew up really theltered. went to church almotht every thunday. my parenth are both right leaning when it cometh to political thtuff and  _ social  _ thtuff. that rubbed off on me.

“i’ve thpent a lot of my life reprething any gay thoughth i had, and hating mythelf for it.” josh half-smiles when he feels tyler’s small hand on his cheek, and a thumb rubbing across his cheekbone. “i’ve been told my whole life that thinking like that wath  _ wrong  _ and a  _ sin.” _

“it’s not wrong to be gay, j.”

“i know, man, i know. jutht imagine feeling like that, then  _ suddenly  _ having having thome almotht ethereal guy drop into your life, giving you the time of day. every time i even think about doing anything with you, i feel guilty, and my body thcreamth  _ wrong wrong wrong  _ at me, even if it feelth right.”

“internalized homophobia. i’ve b-been d-dea-dealing with that stuff too. s’why i had a phase where i slept with a b-bunch of gir-girls in sophomore year. i’m kind of slutty, by the way.”

“i don’t think you’re a thlut. thex ithn’t  _ bad.” _

“exactly, man. you n-n-n-nee-need need need--oh god fucking  _ damn it.”  _ tyler groans and josh rubs his arm, trying to say  _ it’s okay. _ “you need to tell me when you’re uncomfortable instead of dropping off th-the face of the-the-the earth fo-for a month.”

“i jutht need time to get uthed to thingth,” josh mumbles before adjusting his position, and before falling asleep.

 

THIRTY FIVE

 

tyler and josh continue hanging out and talking to each other, up until summer rolls around. the hanging out part doesn’t change, but tyler, being the persistent kind of guy he is, is adamant on seeing josh more frequently.

josh doesn’t particularly mind it, but his work schedule doesn’t  _ allow _ him to see tyler more often.

tyler’s parents start suspecting that he has a boyfriend when his father catches him sneaking out one night. it’s not as if his parents didn’t pick up on his fibbing throughout his second semester, but actually  _ seeing  _ him sneaking out sparked that conversation.

his mother is far too polite when she sits him down at the dining table, asking, “do you have a boyfriend that you’ve been sneaking out to see?”

_ lying will get me into even more shit. time to tell them the truth. or part of it.  _ “y-yes. kind of. um. we w-were k-k-kind o-of g-gonna go on a d-d-da-date tonight.”

“i want to meet him before i let you go out,” she states simply. his father mumbles his agreement, and tyler sighs.

“h-he’s, uh, his c-car is park-parked d-down the, uh, street.”

“what kind of car is it?” his father asks.

tyler knows that his dad doesn’t trust him not to just leave with josh, so he just answers. “black hyundai with a s-sil-silver h-hood.”

 

THIRTY SIX

 

josh scrolls slowly through an article on some website when there’s tapping on his car window. it’s dark and he can’t see the person clearly, so he turns the overhead light on in his car before rolling the window down halfway. “can i help you?”

admittedly, josh was expecting tyler, and not his dad politely asking him to get out of his car. josh doesn’t bother trying to argue or defend himself while he follows mr. joseph back to tyler’s house, and doesn’t say anything when he says, “caught tyler sneaking out,” while they’re walking.

once josh is in the house and once he’s made eye contact with tyler, the younger boy starts signing rapidly.  _ ‘i’m sorry. i didn’t know what to say when they asked. i just told them i had a boyfriend; i didn’t think dad was gonna bring you here.’ _

_ ‘shit happens, tyler. just go along with what i’m about to do.’ _

tyler nods weakly and turns back around in the chair as josh sits in the one next to him. tyler finds some weird form of comfort in josh’s dark teal hair that’s combed back neatly, with only a small lock dropping onto his forehead.

tyler’s mother gives josh a calculative look before asking, “how old are you?”

“i turned twenty  _ six  _ a few  _ weeks  _ ago.”

tyler’s dad starts in on the morality rant, saying that tyler’s only seventeen, and josh cuts him off by pretending to be shocked.  _ “seventeen? _ i thought he wath eighteen.”

josh is a good actor, and tyler really has to give him kudos. of course, though, he gets reamed. “you  _ lied  _ about being  _ eighteen?” _

“i-i-i-i-i didn’t--i jus-just--i l-love him, ma.”

“tyler, you’re too--too  _ young  _ to know that.”

tyler winces at the raise of his father's voice, and he can already feel tears starting to well up in his eyes. josh taps him on the shoulder and gives him a soft look as he signs,  _ ‘it’s gonna be okay. i’m not gonna let anything happen to you, alright?’ _

tyler sighs and nods before looking down at his hands. “d-don’t try tel-telling m-me wh-what i f-feel. you guys d-don-don’t get to d-decide th-that.”

his father only gets to shout about half of his next response before mrs. joseph is kindly escorting him out of the room, telling him that she’d  _ handle  _ it.

as she sits down again, she asks josh what his name is.

“it’th joth.”

“joth?” she looks confused until tyler explains.

“he has a l-lisp. it’s  _ josh.” _

“alright.” tyler can tell she’s thinking carefully about what to say next. “do you…  _ love  _ my son?” and tyler also knows she doesn’t approve, but that she’s probably going to try.

josh takes a few minutes to reply, before settling on the eloquent response of, “i  _ suppose so. _ ”

tyler looks at josh.  _ ‘are you bullshitting her?’ _

_ ‘no. i’m not.’ _

_ ‘oh.’ _

“tyler, go on your date. i’ll deal with your dad. and josh, i want to have a chat with you, but now’s not the time.”

josh gets up, and carries tyler’s jacket for him while they make their way to his car.

 

THIRTY SEVEN

 

_ ‘that went a lot better than i expected.’ _

_ ‘your dad is a dick,’  _ josh comments before he takes a sip of soda.

_ ‘you’re not wrong. i’m so moving out immediately.’ _

“wait until you graduate, ty,” and now josh leans over, kissing tyler slowly, mostly as a form of comfort.

tyler grins a little dumbly. “you’re sweet.”

_ ‘it’s what i’m here for.’ _

 

THIRTY EIGHT

 

**brendon:** MY PARENTS MET DALLON ON ACCIDENT IM DRINKING BLEACH FKJFJGCL

**tyler:** WHAT DID THEY DO

**brendon:** NOTHING HONESTLY BUT I HAD A HEART ATTACK

**tyler:** aRE THEY OKAY WITH IT

**brendon:** IDK BUT I’M 19 SO??? holy hell

**tyler:** did i tell u my parents met josh

**brendon:** dude no

**tyler:** i got yelled at but mom talked dad into letting me continue ‘dating’ him fml

**tyler:** she asked if i SLEPT with him

**brendon:** did you tell her

**tyler:** “once. two months ago.”

**tyler:** but with more stuttering

**brendon:** bruh

**brendon:** then what

**tyler:** dad talked abt him ruining my innocence & something about virginity

**brendon:** you. a virgin. thats like implying i’m not gay. bc i am very gay.

**tyler:** omg i told them i lost my virginity when i was 15 and my dad was maaaddddd

**brendon:** youve got a lot of balls bro

 

THIRTY NINE

 

it’s hot, and tyler has the idea to sit in the back seat of josh’s car, with him of course, with a can of whipped cream and a tub of ice cream. they pass the whipped cream back and forth, between feeding each other bites of the ice cream.

tyler’s having an off day as far as speaking goes, and josh isn’t too chatty in the first place, so they sit there, enjoying the comfortable silence, taking everything in oh-so gingerly.

josh’s hair is starting to fade, leaving it a slightly lighter shade of teal that looks more green, and the thin shirt he’s wearing is sticking to his chest. tyler’s own hair is plastered to his sweaty forehead, and he isn’t even  _ wearing  _ a shirt.

_ ‘never thought something like this could be considered a date.’ _

_ ‘it’s too hot to do anything. also, pass the whipped cream.’  _

josh passes it, and leans back with his eyes closed to give himself a moment to think. his heart isn’t racing like he always thought it should when it came to tyler. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like him; oh no, it’s quite the contrary actually. josh hates the feeling of being nervous, because he always gets himself too worked up.

tyler doesn’t make him nervous. sure, he’s had a few moments where he’s hesitant and wary due to his own internal conflict of  _ right  _ and  _ wrong,  _ as far as letting himself just enjoy tyler’s company, but when it comes down to it, he’s just  _ comfortable.  _

josh knows that he’s a bit of a dick, but he also knows that tyler tends to just…  _ understand.  _ josh thinks the boy is too wise for a seventeen year old.

the ice cream ends up being gone pretty quickly and josh finds himself with a lap full of cute boy kissing his neck. josh’s head shoots back up and he asks tyler what the hell he’s doing.

_ ‘art appreciation.’ _

josh nudges him and tries to will away the blush on his cheeks. tyler smiles and kisses him on the lips before he’s sliding hands up josh’s shirt, peeling it off, and attaching his lips to josh’s neck, surely leaving marks.

they kiss and move together slowly hips rolling and hands exploring, breaths eventually coming out in short gasps until josh cuts tyler off, saying, “i’m not going to cum in my jeanth.”

and that’s when tyler slides off of josh’s lap before leaning over to tug josh’s shorts down to about the middle of his thighs.  _ “now  _ what are you doin’?”

_ ‘getting ready to suck you off. unless you don’t want me to, then i won’t.’ _

josh considers him for a second before he pulls his briefs down to about where his shorts are.  _ ‘i want.’ _

tyler smirks.

 

FORTY

 

brendon goes over to tyler’s house for a few days, and tyler curses him and his good intuition when it comes to his friends. tyler’s, mostly, been non-vocal, given his current home situation and considering the fact neither of his parents have bothered to remember to refill his prescription for xanax.

brendon had noticed the blinking and the way his hands kept fidgeting along with his legs, so he finally cracks and asks him what’s wrong.

tyler just scribbles down an answer, as usual, in the notebook he uses to talk to brendon when he can’t physically talk.

_ i gave josh a blow job on saturday. _

“and? you’ve sucked dick before, tyler.”

_ i’ve been trying to NOT do sexual things with him but i couldnt help it and im afraid hes gonna quit talking to me again cuz he freaked out after we fucked _

“if he quits talking to you, i’ll beat him up. have you talked to him?”

tyler sheepishly shakes his head and mouths ‘no.’

“okay, well, you gotta talk to him. ninety percent of the time most issues can be resolved with communication.”

_ right now? _

“not necessarily but asap would probably be best.”

_ he’s probably off work by now. ugh. i hate being anxious. _

“it’s cool, bro. i get it.”

 

FORTY ONE

 

**cutie:** josh

**daddy:** what

**cutie:** i dont wanna be annoying but im low key having problems w/anxiety so can u reassure me that you aren’t gonna freak out cuz of wht happened saturday bc in the past youve had a tendency to bolt after stuff like that so idk

**daddy:** i’m not gonna go anywhere. trust me.

**cutie:** okay. are we still on for movie & dinner this weekend??? 

**daddy:** yesss we are. i’ll even buy you flowers and overpriced theater candy.

 

FORTY TWO

 

josh isn’t sure what he expected when he agreed to take tyler to a movie. tyler chooses a movie that isn’t popular, meaning there’s no one else in the theater, and that the person who usually stands in there asked them if they’d behave so he could go dick around for a few hours.

meaning they were alone. meaning that tyler put up the armrest on the chair and had pulled josh over a bit to kiss him. josh isn’t sure why it’s  _ tyler  _ who’s always jumping him. he knows that tyler doesn’t know how relationships work, and that he thinks sex is the way to go.

he’s been trying to show the boy that there’s more to things than just sex, but he can’t resist it when tyler’s kissing his neck, sucking bruises into it, and palming him through his jeans. he also can’t resist it when tyler’s unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans to snake his hand through the front of josh’s boxers to pull his dick out.

josh kind of wants to just go back to kissing, but he’s so  _ hard  _ and tyler has his hand wrapped around him and then suddenly there’s a  _ mouth  _ on his dick and a seventeen year old dropping to his knees in front of his chair and between his legs.

tyler is  _ so good  _ at sucking dick. josh has had enough girlfriends and he’s received more than a few blowjobs, but the one he’s gotten from tyler and the he’s currently _ getting _ from tyler just takes the fucking cake, and the fact that he’s gay doesn’t have  _ that  _ much to do with it.

tyler does more than just move his head. he goes slow sometimes and goes fast and sometimes he focuses on licking and sucking on the head of josh’s cock and whenever he takes a minute to catch his breath he strokes josh’s dick almost  _ expertly,  _ and another thing that josh finds oddly yet ridiculously hot is that tyler  _ swallows.  _ josh tries warning him, tries telling him that he’s about to cum, but tyler just speeds up his movements until josh is bucking up into his mouth out of reflex and coming in his mouth.

tyler just pulls away, eyes all dilated, mouth hanging open, and josh can see the load he’d shot into tyler’s mouth, and he all but moans when tyler  _ slowly  _ swallows.

“that really thouldn’t be that hot,” he whispers.

tyler signs back.  _ ‘it’s always hot when someone swallows.’ _

 

FORTY THREE

 

**brendon:** do you have any money

**tyler:** kind of? i have 500 or so in my bank account just from allowance and birthday/christmas money

**brendon:** cool im picking u up and we’re going to cincinnati

**tyler:** why cincinnati

**brendon:** 1\. idk theres different shopping stuff there than columbus 2. dallon’s driving and paying for his own gas since he needs 2 shop there anyways so??????? why not take advantage?

**tyler:** you are horrible

**tyler:** when

**brendon:** like. now.

**tyler:** iM NOT EVEN DRESSED AND I HAVENT SHOWERED SINCE I WENT TO THE MOVIE WITH JOSH

**brendon:** then go shower and be speedy about it?

**tyler:** omgomgomg i hate you but ok

 

tyler showers and gets dressed within ten minutes, and brendon pops up in fifteen. his mother asks where they’re going and tyler just tell her that they’re going to… hang out. all afternoon. possibly all night. probably all night.

she gives him a skeptical look but lets him leave anyways.

as tyler is getting into the back seat of mr. weekes’s car, he signs out,  _ ‘hey, mr. weekes.’ _

“i’m don’t even work at your school anymore, tyler.”

_ ‘dallon feels weird.’ _

“and how do you think being called ‘mr. weekes’ makes me feel?”

_ ‘like a teacher? that’s what you are.’ _

“it makes me feel  _ old,  _ kid.”

“you  _ are  _ old. luckily, i like older men.”

dallon mutters, “fuck off, dick,” under his breath.


	25. jallon ish.odt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> like it says  
> jallon ISH

2009 wasn't actually an odd year, you guess. you still did the same stuff you usually did--you toured, played your bass, and did what you do best--music. the only part that _was_ odd was that you were suddenly a touring member for an internationally famous band, rather than your own band which was only famous in the pacific northwest, if that.

you're kind of the odd one out. ian is too, and that's sort of why the two of you form some sort of friendship. it's not a deep or a close one, but it's enough to where you don't feel left out and miserable whenever it comes to brendon and spencer. it's not that they intentionally leave you and ian out of things--it's more like _they're_ best friends, and it's hard to hold your ground against two people who are incredibly close.

things don't actually get _odd_ until 2011, though. you're still friends with ian, and you're closer with brendon and spencer. close enough to where you're an official member of the band rather than just a touring member.

it happens at a show--you're not sure which one or where it was, but brendon-- _brendon's_ the one who starts it.

he's a performer, plain and simple. he has a _huge_ stage presence, and he just gets so _in the zone_ that he doesn't think about what he's doing, and although you're caught off guard, you just go with it when he's suddenly kissing on your neck and giggling into the mic. you go with it, and give some exaggerated reaction, because you're a performer too. next to music, it's what you do best. you _perform._

the crowd goes fucking _nuts,_ and you cast a side glance at brendon. he has one of those looks on his face--the one that means he's had a revelation.

you know that he's familiar with the concept of stage gay--you've seen some of the stuff fans have tagged _you_ in about him and ryan ross. brendon's been performing since 2004, and had five years of solid _stage gay_ with ryan ross, and he knows what gets the crowd to go nuts.

now, look--you're attractive, and you're hyper aware of it. you're tall, you've got angular facial features and a strong jawline, and you really pull off that stylish accountant aesthetic. brendon's attractive too, and you don't mean that in a gay way. you mean it in a constructive way. he's handsome, plain and simple. he has a nice body, too, and he has one of those haircuts that his fan base is particularly fond of.

so, basically, when two attractive people are acting _gay,_ on _stage,_ hence the term stage gay, teenage girls, boys, and everything in between who like to fetishize gay men see those two people doing exactly that, it's bound to cause a reaction.

that one little thing that brendon did causes what you've just dubbed as the brallon shit storm. the brallon shit storm is a three year period in your life that started good and ended bad. during touring in 2011, the stage gay escalates and there's a few occasions where he almost full on kisses you on the lips.

neither of you talk about it, you just go with it, and the label doesn't give a shit as long as it boosts album sales, so what could be the harm in being overly sexual and provocative with one of your best friends on stage for roughly seven months?

well, it's a lot of harm. you don't actually figure this out until early 2014, and you're going to just stick with the timeline of the brallon shit storm.

it's not until the middle of the second round of touring in 2011 that the stage gay starts happening off of the stage. sometimes you have to share dressing rooms, and usually you have to share a dressing room with ian whenever the occasion arises, but you wind up sharing it with brendon this one specific time.

he's still wired from the performance, and, admittedly, you're wired too. when you're wired, though, you tend to be internally buzzing, whereas he can't physically contain himself. you were in the middle of taking your shirt off, because as much as you like how you look in button ups, they're still uncomfortable, and you're craving the soft cotton of a simple crew neck, when brendon just--he bluntly asks, "you wanna make out, man?"

you open and close your mouth a few times, letting out a quiet and sorta drawn out, "uh," and before you even have time to think about it, you say, "sure." the excuse you tell yourself is that you're lonely, and that you need to blow off some steam, and that making out with one of your best friends isn't really a big deal, just so long as it's platonic.

neither of you have to be on the bus for another hour, and there's a couch in the room, so when you're finally in a simple t-shirt and a pair of jeans, you find yourself being pushed onto your back, laying horizontally on the couch. the part you're not expecting is the part where brendon straddles your hips. you kind of figured he'd want to be between your legs, but that's just not the case apparently

he's straddling your hips and then his lips are on yours and actually kissing him is different than you thought. on stage, he has such a presence, and hes so--he's so large and in charge on stage, but in this dressing room, where he's sitting on your lap, he's just... not. he's chill.

chill isn't a word you'd use to describe brendon urie. obnoxious, ridiculous, flamboyant, and ridiculously talented are words that you _would_ use to describe him, though. you're a little stiff and awkward at first, but you find it easy to fall into your role. you're not sure what it is, but you have your hands on his hips and you're sort of leading the kissing, despite the fact that he's the one straddling you, and it's nice, honestly.

at least until zack is flinging the door open, not even batting an eyelash at the compromising position either of you are in, and telling the two of you to hurry the hell up and to get on the bus.

things like that keep happening for the rest of the tour, only escalating once or twice. the first time it escalates, either of you end up cumming in either of your pants, and the second time it escalates brendon's on his knees in a gas station bathroom and you're biting your thumb to keep quiet.

tour ends in august, though, and you go back to your condo in malibu for a few months. you kind of miss having someone to just... be with. you live alone, and you get lonely, y'know? it gets lonely on tour too, especially if you don't have a significant other or any family that can visit you on tour. you kind of think that's why brendon started what he started. it'd make sense--he lives alone too, and spencer still lives in nevada, and you know that he has nothing going on with spencer, and definitely not ian. (ian has a girlfriend. she's lovely. also, spencer's engaged anyways.)

you're just a little thrown off, trying to adjust to being alone again. it's nice being able to be close and intimate with someone, even if it doesn't mean anything. a warm body is a warm body and affection is affection no matter who it is or who it's coming from.

it's barely the middle of september when brendon sends you a text message and asks you if you want to come over. coming over could mean anything. it could mean sitting down on his couch, cracking open a can of beer, and watching nascar, but it could also mean that he's trying to be discreet about you being his booty call.

you just tell him, 'sure,' and he gives you his address with no further comment. you'll be honest--you go to his house in los angeles, and he lets you fuck him. well, more like he begs you to fuck him, and you were thinking with your dick when it happened, not with your mind. you didn't bother to think about any consequences that this _might_ or might not have had.

that happens more often than you'd like to admit, and you even end up spending the majority of october at his house, before having to travel outside of california when holiday season rolls around. you go back and forth between utah and your condo, not being able to find the time to fuck around with brendon.

of course, the same old habits start up again in the middle of january, and a lot of people (by a lot of, you mean everyone) don't know this, but a good portion of _too weird to live, too rare to die_ was written post coitus, brendon with a joint hanging out of his mouth, babbling, and either of you passing a notebook back and forth. the other portion was written during another round of touring.

that's how things are for the entirety of 2012, and until fall of 2013. it's not like there's some huge fight--no, that happens a few years from then. the two of you just _drift._ he starts gently rejecting your advances, and you find yourself doing the same until the two of you are just... casual friends. acquaintances, maybe. this all happens over the course of the save rock and roll arena tour.

the two of you tended to hang out after shows when on tour, but the first show of the save rock and roll tour, you find yourself playing fucking _mario kart_ with twenty one pilots. brendon sends you a text and asks you where you're at, and you just say, _oh, sorry, josh asked if i wanted to hang out with him and tyler. forgot to say something._ you turn your phone off after that. you're having fun.

josh and tyler are friendly. they remind you of brendon and spencer, how they used to be, except they don't make you feel like the third wheel. they actually include you in the conversation, and take an interest in you. they're the kind of guys that like to make friends on tour, just so touring isn't miserable. and, well, they're the kind of guys that you just can't _hate,_ the kind of guys you can't help but to _love._

by the time you're back on your own bus, brendon's in his own bunk, either asleep or on his phone, and you don't try to climb in next to him for the first time in a long time. you just cram yourself into your own bunk, turn over, and fall asleep.

when touring, it's not uncommon that everyone has specific groups that they stick with. brendon and pete like to go out and party, spencer and kenny drink beer together and bond over sports, joe and andy do whatever they do--you're not sure, and you tend to play three-way mario kart with josh and tyler while patrick does his own thing nearby.

it used to be that you and brendon would sneak off to fool around, but, honestly, with pete around, you shouldn't be surprised that he disappears then shows up again drunk and stoned.

you like the occasional margarita or _brownie,_ but partying wasn't ever your scene, and it never will be, and that's why you aren't following after brendon like some lost little puppy. you do go to one party with him, but you end up just being the designated driver. that's in november, and that's the first time you yell at him.

well, you don't pitch a fit, but you tell him to fuck off and to quit hitting on you while he's stoned and drunk. he just looks sad and dejected and it's a hotel night. he ends up with spencer, zack, and kenny. you end up alone.

at first.

you're clicking through the channels on the tv, and it's around two in the morning when you're getting a text. you're half expecting it to be brendon drunk texting you, but it's just josh asking you if you're awake. and you are. you tell him as much.

josh is different when tyler's not around. he's more withdrawn and quiet. it's understandable. you're the opposite of that, but with brendon. you're quiet and withdrawn when brendon's nearby, since he does a lot of the talking when it comes existing in the same space, but without him you can be a bit of a chatterbox.

josh comes to hang out with you in the room you were supposed to share with brendon. there's only one bed, and, alright--josh isn't stupid. out of everyone, crew included, he's the most observant. he'd be blind not to know that you and brendon are fucking. or were fucking. you haven't slept with him since september.

the point is, he doesn't bat an eyelash at there being one bed, but just sits cross legged next to you. "can't sleep?"

josh nods. "yeah. i never really sleep much. tyler's usually up with me, but he passed out about an hour ago, and i'm still wired from the show. him and mark are really light sleepers, so i couldn't really do anything without one of them throwing a pillow at me. you can't sleep?"

"i tried but i couldn't. brendon's usually here, but we kind of got into it earlier."

"that sucks, man." josh means that, too. he's not just saying it to tide you over. "what happened?"

"he got wasted then tried coming onto me, and got mad when i tried telling him to knock it off. i ended up yelling at him and now he's in spencer's room. i feel like such an asshole." you frown at one of your toenails and ignore the way your chin is digging into your knee. "things are weird with him." that's the first time you've said this out loud, and, like you said, you don't consider the consequences of anything. josh doesn't fuck you over, of course, but you opening up him--you're pretty sure this is what starts the next shit storm of your life that ends up not actually being a shit storm in the long run.

"been there. had a situation like that happen when i first joined twenty one pilots. wanna talk about it...? i might be able to give you some insight."

"started off as stage gay but ended up as real gay. i thought everything was fine with him, but apparently it's not. this tour has been weird. we don't--we don't _talk_ to each other anymore, we don't do anything we usually do, and it's coming from both ends. he's always off fucking partying with pete, and i hate partying, so i'm always on _your_ bus playing mario kart because i hate being alone and spencer and kenny are kind of boring." you sigh and frown. you want to throw something, but you don't want josh to think you're weird or violent or something. "i hate admitting it, but i kind of liked him, but now i _don't_ like him and it _hurts."_

"i had a few month fling with tyler before he met jenna. we were best friends and we're still best friends but the line between platonic and not platonic got skewed and neither of us talked about it and it got messy for a while but we worked it out."

"how'd you work it out?" you like brendon. you do. you really want to at least be his friend.

"no more sex. our friendship and the band had to come first. it was awkward and tense for a while, because we kind of had to learn how to be around each other again without doing not platonic things, but we're back to where we were before things got weird. best friends."

"i only knew brendon for a year before we started doing anything. we kind of jumped into everything backwards and it's blowing up in my face right now. we weren't ever really friends. i mean, we got along, but we just--we don't _mesh._ we don't like the same things, we don't have any mutual interests. he likes going to parties, i like staying home. he likes billy joel, i like blue oyster cult. he likes shiny and fancy and grandiose things, and i'm fine with my used suv from 2007 and my condo. he's too fast for me. i can't catch up. does that make sense?"

"it makes sense. you should probably have a talk with him before it breaks your band up."

"it's his band, not mine," you remind him.

"you bust your ass on that stage every night, and you're wicked talented, dude. it's every bit your band as it is his."

"i wasn't one of the original members."

"so? i wasn't one of the original members of my band, but it's still _my band."_

josh is right. he's one of those people who's right about almost everything, and he's also one of those people who always has really good advice. the plan you settle on is that you're going to talk to brendon on an off day, and you're going to ask him what he wants. you're thirty two--you want to settle down with someone--you want a _relationship._

but he's twenty six. he's still _young._ he wants some teenage dream. he wants _sparks, fire, sex--_ all of the things that shouldn't matter. he doesn't give a shit about love and you officially end whatever the two of you had, because both of you want different things, and you could feel it in your gut that it wasn't going to work out.

the save rock and roll tour ends a few weeks after that, and from your place in the future, you laugh at how fans called it the end of an era. at least the end of the brallon era. it's not technically the end of the brallon shit storm, though. that shit storm doesn't end until may of 2017, but, hey, we're barely in 2014 now.

2014 is kind of a boring year. there's a few more rounds of touring, awkward tension on the tour bus with brendon, and 2015 is spent working on the new album. well, _his_ 2015 is spent working on a new album. you get into a _huge_ fight with him in the beginning of the year, and you don't even know what happened anymore, but he kicked you out of the band. you're still a touring member, of course, because he can't find anyone else on short notice who knows _all_ of panic's songs.

you get officially dropped from the band on may 10th, 2015, and six days later josh is sending you a weird link via text. it's a download from a website you don't recognize in the slightest, and against your better judgment you download the files. josh hadn't said anything else aside from sending the link to you, and you listen to each of the fourteen songs. you knew the second the intro played to the first song that it was twenty one pilots' new album.

you respond with, _i dig it. release date?_

_tyler's leaking it tomorrow._

_this stuff is going to blow up. i can feel it, man._

and you're right. fairly local had already blown up when it dropped in march, as had stressed out and tear in my heart, but they, the band, blow up even more when tyler leaks the album the next day. you watch the column you made on tweetdeck for blurryface, and you're proud of your friends, even if you're miserable and heartbroken. (again.)

your 2015 gets interesting in august when josh asks you if you'd like to tag along on the north american leg of the blurryface tour. it's either that or stay in your condo until brendon needs you for touring again, so you go. the tour doesn't start until a little over a week into september, and you have to wonder how he and tyler deal with playing so many shows in such rapid succession.

you figure it out on the third show of the tour, which is on the eleventh of september. you always sit close to the stage but out of view of the audience as to avoid people overreacting because, _oh my god! dallon weekes is here!_

you see the looks on their faces that night, and it clicks in your head. they're passionate. you haven't been passionate about anything in so fucking long that you forgot what it looked like. the last time you were passionate about anything was when you were still touring with the brobecks, but that ended because you had bills to pay.

tyler and josh love what they do, and that's why they're able to play thirty six shows in two months without getting winded. a week later in columbus you buy a shitty ten cent notebook at a walmart because that show was magical. columbus is home to them, and that show--that one was just _special,_ and you're left with so many lyrics flying around in your head.

you don't spit out whole songs in one go. that's not how you write. you write phrases here and there, _lyrics,_ bits of poetry, then string them together later to make sense. you write angry lyrics about brendon that you don't do anything with until _i don't know how, but they found me_ happens, you write lyrics about passion and depression and all of those dark and horrible and tragic and heartbreaking things, and you accidentally write about _josh_.

aaand that's when the jallon shit storm starts. the fans came up with 'brallon' but you came up with 'jallon.' there's already a few fans that poke fun at you and josh once in a while, so jallon wasn't a new name to you, but, like, still. you're the og jallon stan as the young'ns would call it.

after a week of tagging along on the north american leg of the blurryface tour, the fact that you have a _fondness_ for josh smacks you upside the head. you don't know if you love him, if you have a crush on him, if you just find him attractive, or _what,_ but you feel something for him and it scares you.

it only takes ten days after that for fans to figure out you're, y'know, tagging along. you get spotted after a bunch of shows, and fans put the pieces together. when brendon catches wind of it, he sends you a text. it's the first time he's talked to you on his own since may. it's september.

_are you joining twenty one pilots now?_

_no, but even if i was, it's none of your business anymore. remember?_

that text probably wasn't a good idea, but you take a screenshot of the conversation then put your phone on airplane mode. it's a hotel night the night brendon texts you, and jenna's been tagging along since columbus, so you're roomed with josh. you're pretty sure mark and brad and a few other people are crammed in a different room, but the point is, you're with josh.

he's your best friend right now. tyler's still his best friend, but you know he considers you his second best friend. whenever you're roomed with josh, the two of you end up staying awake almost all night, not always talking. you're just on your laptop playing tetris, and he's on his phone playing whichever mobile game has his attention most nights. sometimes you watch tv, and sometimes you talk. this night is one of the nights you talk.

you confide in josh a lot whenever something's bugging you. that's what friends are for, right?

"brendon sent me a text today."

"that's good! what did he say?"

you show him the screenshot.

his face falls.

with your permission, he takes your phone off airplane mode, and either of you read the ten angry text messages brendon had sent you. they're cruel. really cruel.

you're not the kind of guy who cries, usually. you really aren't. you're normally able to keep your head high, but brendon takes an ice pick to the block of ice that resembles your insecurities, and he stabs at all of the weak points that make you crack. you want to ask why he'd say that, but all that comes out as you're wiping one of your hands at your eyes is, "he's such an asshole."

that's the night you scribble, _stop, drop, and drag me into place,_ _i'll block your fire escape_ _s_ _, i'll break your fucking face,_ onto the first page of a new notebook.

things go normally until june of 2016. death of a bachelor drops in january, you show up for a few obligatory interviews and you act as casual as possible around brendon, who manages to be civil for fucking once. every time the interviews are over, though, he goes back to pretending you don't exist.

and that's fine.

him pretending you don't exist is more fun than him ripping your head off for so much as breathing.

june is when the summer tour with weezer starts. you don't talk to brendon more than the necessary communication that _has_ to happen on stage, lest the show flop, and you try your best to stand as far as possible without it being weird during meet and greets.

kenny and dan don't know what's going on between you and brendon, and either of them learn not to ask, but they also start avoiding both you and brendon. or you. you see them hanging around brendon, but brendon's the kind of asshole who doesn't make you feel welcome, and who makes your work environment a hostile place.

so, you're back to where you were in 2009. lonely. and unwelcome. you get a break on july sixth, since josh pops up in toronto. you knew he was going to be there, but you're still happy when you see him. he's not a no homo sort of guy, given he's a closeted gay man, so he gives you a pretty big bear hug when you see him.


	26. first version chapter 50 of endless that i fucking hated

Two days later, it’s Valentine’s. Josh wakes up a while before Tyler does, so he sneaks out of the apartment and walks to the diner to get breakfast for him. He could cook, but he knows that either way Tyler’s going to be touched that he thought to get him breakfast.

When Josh walks back into his apartment, he sets the carton of food down on the counter with his keys and changes back into his pajamas. Meaning he takes his shirt and pants off since he only slept in his underwear that night. He’s quiet as he carries his day-old pants over to the laundry basket of dirty clothes on top of the washer, before he’s grabbing the food and taking it into the bedroom.

Tyler’s awake and reading a text message on his phone, eyes barely opened and his hair sticking up in weird places from how he slept. To Josh, he’s the image of perfection right now. The sun is barely starting to filter in through the blinds on the windows in the bedroom and it’s making his skin look kind of like caramel.

In general, Tyler’s just a beautiful person. His shoulders, although slender, are broad, and he has freckles all over his arms--freckles that Josh absolutely adores. His hands are slender but they’re also strong and firm and Josh likes how he has a few freckles on a few of his fingers. He also loves Tyler’s weird thumbs. Tyler hates them and Josh is well aware, but he thinks they're cute. (It’s kind of like how Josh hates his nose since it’s a little crooked and weird looking, but Tyler loves it and claims that it’s his favorite nose, whereas he hates his ‘toe thumbs’ as he calls them, but Josh loves them.)

Tyler’s naked, and Josh kind of really loves it whenever he is. Not in a sexual way, but because he just--he thinks he’s beautiful. He likes the way Tyler’s body is basically bald, save for his thighs, and his pubes. Tyler thinks it’s weird and Josh thinks it’s cute. He’s also basically in love with how Tyler always has the slightest bit of pudge on his stomach and his hips no matter how much he ways.

He used to be shallow about fat, thinking that people who weren’t one hundred percent _model-like_ were ugly, but even the first night he met Tyler, that thought process was thrown out the window, because whether or not he wanted to admit it at that time, Tyler was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and Tyler is _still_ the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Josh honestly thinks he started loving Tyler as soon as he met him, because, alright--he thinks this is corny, and he refuses to say it out loud unless they’re ever exchanging wedding vows, but when he held his hand the first time, it felt like it just belonged there, like their hands were made for each other to hold. He knows that he never would have let himself consciously think that, because 2000 Josh refused to let himself fall in love, but 2004 Josh will gladly admit, to himself, that holding Tyler's hand for the first time felt like he’d already held it thousands of times before.

Present time, Tyler’s squinting at Josh, saying, “Quit staring at me like that. You’re makin’ me nervous.”

“I’m sorry. You just--you look beautiful right now. I needed to take a moment to just _look_ at you.” Josh walks over to the bed, and hands the carton of food to Tyler. “Didn’t want to risk ruining breakfast from making it myself.”

Tyler yawns, and in his tired, gravelly ‘I just woke up’ voice, he’s mumbling, “You’re sweet.” Tyler looks so happy and delighted when he sees his favorite meal ever from the diner in that carton. A chicken sandwich with mayo, lettuce, and tomato, then a fresh lemon bar. “You know my order?”

“Course I do. It’s simple enough for me to remember.”

Josh sits on the bed next to Tyler while he eats. He kind of likes how Tyler looks like a cat with its ears back if he’s tired or just waking up. He looks like the definition of grumpy, even though, usually, he doesn’t get too grumpy.

“Ashley asked me if I wanted to hang out with her today. I had to remind her that it’s the fourteenth and that I have a boyfriend I need to pay attention to. Anyways, I was asleep by the time you got home yesterday, so I didn’t get to ask you how NA went.”

“It was alright. There were a few new people, then a bunch of others who complained about craving fucking Vicodin. Like, I get it, but kicking a fucking cocaine and ecstasy addiction, plus whatever other shit I took, is way harder. I'm just--I’m petty and frustrated. I didn’t say any of that, but I was thinking it. I, myself, just gave my general backstory, then vaguely talked about my plans for today since I haven’t really been having any issues with cravings lately.”

Tyler nods along as he eats. “I dunno. I’m a lousy junkie. I even tried meth one time, but I didn’t like it. I just don’t have an addictive personality or whatever.”

“And I do. Though, when I was growing up, we didn’t have any ads or education on how drugs worked, so I didn’t know how bad they could really be. It started as experimenting for me, but then I was like, “Oh! This is cool!” and kept doing it. Also, meth never did anything for me. I mean, I got high and all, but god, I crashed so fucking hard. My head was hurting for a week the one time I tried.”

“Dude, same. I had such a horrible headache. I’m also bipolar, so I had a really bad reaction to it too. Like, I hated it so much. Freaked me out. I came back here and hung out with you the night I tried it. I was freaked out and didn’t feel safe anywhere else. Dunno if you ever noticed or remembered or if I even told you.”

“You told me. You said, “I tried crystal meth, and I’m having a really bad trip,” and as someone who has experience with that, I just wanted to make sure you were safe and alright. I dunno. I think you were expecting me to get mad at you, honestly.”

“Probably was. You used to be mad at me a lot.”

“Eh, not really. I acted like it though. That night in particular was the one night I wasn’t tweaked. I mean, I had been drinking a little bit, but I was lucid. I’m just glad you came here.”

“You told me I was safe here on the few occasions I needed a safe space, and I knew it too. Dude, okay--you were like… You were still in that asshole phase when I was experimenting but you were also really nice and made sure I was safe whenever I tried anything new.”

“I mean, I get experimenting, and when I was, I didn’t really have a safe place, because Brendon would yell at me, my parents would've killed me, and I didn’t have a whole lot of friends, and it was real shitty so I just wanted you to have that. You still have that, by the way. Like, this apartment will _always_ be a safe place for you, and I try my best to make sure that’s always true. I just--a lot of bad shit happened to me because I would try stuff and not be somewhere with someone who cared about me. I hate busting out the ‘r’ word but almost every time I tried something new there would always be that one person who took advantage of me not being sober.”

“You can’t consent if you aren’t sober enough to think things through. Anyways, moving on, since I don’t think now is the time to work yourself up over that stuff, especially since it’s early.” Tyler squeezes Josh’s knee before he responds to something else. “Even when we fight I still feel really safe here. This apartment is home to me. If we, or you, ever move, I’m gonna be really sad.”

“You can say ‘we.’ If we move, I’m buying a house. Nothing ridiculous, but definitely bigger than this apartment. I don’t know what we’d do with all the extra bedrooms, because we’ve mostly shared this one since we met.”

“One is reserved for a studio, and one is reserved for when I need alone time, then one is our bedroom. I don’t know about the rest.”

“An office. I need a home office. You’ve already laid claim to the other bedroom here, or I would’ve converted it instead of using part of the living room.”

“Yeah. I get socially exhausted real easy, and sometimes but rarely I have so little energy that I have trouble even talking to you, so I have to have somewhere to decompress and have some me-time that I don’t associate with working.”

“I totally get that. I do too, but usually just being home in general helps that well enough.”

“I mean, same, usually, but y’know.” At this point, Tyler’s done eating, so he hands his carton to Josh, and Josh leaves for a minute or two to go throw it away.

**(note: I just want you all to take a minute and remember that Tyler has been naked for that entire conversation.)**

Josh and Tyler shower together that morning. For the first ten minutes or so of that shower, they kiss, slow and sweet, giggling here and there, especially whenever their hands hover  over each other's asses. Eventually they get to actually cleaning off, and Josh says, “When we have sex either this evening or tonight, you can top.”

Even though his back is covered in soap, Tyler turns around to look Josh in the eye as he says, “I really don't think that's a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I'm going to talk and I don't want any interruptions.”

Josh nods.

“When I top, it’s on your terms, and it’s because you trust me. This morning when I was eating, you were talking about how you… how you’re like… Okay, can I just say it? You haven’t said it out loud in front of me and I just need to be frank with you right now. And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about, because you do.”

“You can say it.”

“You’re a rape victim. I know you put a _lot_ of trust in me to not hurt you, and I just don’t think tonight is going to be a good night for this. I know how you are, and I know how you work. You already brought it up once, and I just actually flat out said it, so it’s going to be in your head all day. Happens to me whenever I think about certain traumatic things. When I top, it’s my job to make sure that I have explicit consent the whole time, and it’s my job to make sure that you feel safe, and it’s also my job to make calls like this.

“I don’t know how to explain what I’m trying to say without using an example, so excuse this. It’s like--okay, remember when we tried handcuffs and blindfolds? I ended up safewording then I had a panic attack right after because I don’t like it when I don’t have control of myself, and I hate being held down or restrained and I didn’t like not knowing for sure what was happening because I couldn’t see. I’m not comfortable with doing things that aren’t typically vanilla, and you know that, so, right now, to me, I kind of feel like that by you saying that and me agreeing to it would be like if you suggested we try handcuffs and blindfolds again even though you knew I wouldn’t be comfortable with it.

“I feel like, right now, you’re offering to let me top as some sort of _gift_ or _reward,_ as if I’m entitled to topping just because you’re my partner, and we’re in a long term relationship. I respect you. More than anything, I respect you. Today is about _love,_ and it’s our day to show each other that, and it wouldn’t be right or respectful of me if I were to just fuck you to get off because it’s Valentine's. For _me,_ when I top, it’s not fucking, and it never has and it never will be.

“I just _really_ think that today isn’t the day we should do that, because I wouldn’t be comfortable given what we talked about earlier, and since this is all in your head right now and on your mind anyways, I don’t think that I would be able to top while also making you feel safe. The way you phrased that isn’t how you usually phrase it. I would never betray you, and I feel like if I took advantage of that offer, I would be, so don’t argue with me. _I’m_ putting my foot down and saying _no.”_

Josh is giving Tyler some indecipherable look before he’s pulling the younger man closer so he can hug him. Tyler hugs him back of course, and tightens his hold when Josh says, “Thank you. I don’t--I don’t know if you’re okay with it, but I don’t think I’m gonna be in the mood to do anything in general.”

“That’s completely fine, Josh. I just want you to be comfortable, alright? Don’t force yourself.”

“One question. Have I ever… like… betrayed your trust?”

“As far as sex goes, you haven’t. I put a lot of trust in you too, y’know. Not as much, but I trust you not to hurt me or to force me or to pressure or guilt me, and you haven’t, so don’t worry.”

“So, plans for today: I give you the flowers, chocolates, card, and two gifts that I bought for you, I take you on a romantic date since I made reservations at a restaurant, and then we come home, watch something, maybe make out a little bit, and just… enjoy each other’s company.”

“I got you gifts too. Gotta add that. Other than that, though, that sounds like an awesome plan. Can I kiss you right now before we finish showering?”

Josh detaches himself from Tyler, and nods. “You can do that.”

\---

Tyler gets dressed casually, in a t-shirt, jeans, and one of Josh’s sweatshirts that he absconded with since Josh never wore it in the first place. It’s a gray Gap sweatshirt and although it’s older than he is, Tyler loves it. Josh, himself, settles on a dress shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans with a fitting gray blazer.

“Dude, you look like a million bucks, and I look like some teenager.” Tyler pouts and whines. “Why don’t you ever wear t-shirts and jeans?”

“Looks weird on me. I like my button ups and blazers, alright?”

“I feel inferior.”

“Then wear some of your expensive clothes, Tyler. I’ve looked at my bank account. I know you got good clothes.” Josh gives him a teasing look that draws a smile from him.

“I’ll deal, Josh.” Tyler sticks his tongue out at him.

They head towards the living room to exchange gifts with each other. Tyler's were already in a paper shopping bag he got from a Macy’s a while back. Tyler goes first with the present giving since his would take less time apparently, which makes him wonder how crazy Josh went.

Tyler hands Josh the card and chocolates first, saying, “Still got two more. Read the card, though.”

Josh is messy about ripping the envelope open since he has a hard time getting the flaps on envelopes open since he bites his nails. Tyler doesn’t mind, though.

_Roses are red, violets are blue, and I don’t have something witty to say other than I love you a lot and I’m looking forward to spending many more Valentine’s Days with you._

“That’s really sweet, Tyler.” Josh grins sorta shyly and leans over to kiss him.

“I picked out all the raspberry and orange ones since you don’t like those. That’s why it’s open. I replaced them with more coconut and caramel ones since I know you like those better.” Tyler shrugs sheepishly and pulls out the last two presents. One is a CD in an unmarked sleeve, and the other is a small stuffed bear holding a red heart with ‘I love you’ in corny font. “S’not Valentine’s until someone gets one of these, at least where I’m from.”

“What’s the CD?”

“Compilation of every song I’ve written about you. The first track is most recent and was intended for today. Needed to add something sentimental to the mix.”

“You really one upped me here, man.” Josh sighs quietly and presses a kiss to Tyler’s cheek. “I don’t think my gifts are that sentimental.”

Josh leaves for a few minutes to fetch his presents after that. Tyler has stars in his eyes when Josh comes back into the living room with one of those giant bears from Costco, his favorite flowers, his favorite chocolates, and a card. “Oh my _god,_ Josh, I’ve always wanted one of those bears! Holy shit!” Tyler makes grabby hands for it, and Josh bends down far enough for him to grab it. Tyler hugs it, grinning. “Of all things that I’ve mentioned once, this is the one you remembered?”

“I don’t know where we’re gonna put it, but I figured you’d like it.” Josh shrugs a bit and sits back down next to him.

“We’ll find somewhere.” Tyler sighs into the faux fur on the bear, holding it close to him.

“What about everything else?”

“I need time with the bear, J. Can’t interrupt my life dream.”

Eventually, Tyler’s fascination dies down, so he reaches for the card next, taking it gently, and opening it far neater than Josh had opened his.

It’s a homemade card and it makes Tyler’s heart swell. There’s two boy stick figures on the front, holding hands. One has red hair, colored in with red pen, and the other has brown hair, colored in with, oddly, a brown crayon. “They didn’t have gay cards at the place I get cards at so I made my own. It’s pretty bad.”

“No, Josh, it’s adorable and I love it.”

_I’ve never gotten/made anyone a Valentine’s card before. I don’t know what to write. I think you saved my life, so thanks for that. I’m really glad we have each other. Uh. I love you. That too. I'm never writing you another card. This is hard._

_-Josh_

“I want cards like this on every holiday and birthday that calls for cards.”

“Turn it over.”

Tyler does just that, and grins at the H&M gift card taped to the back. “You know me. I fucking love H&M.”

“Spend that wisely, then.”

Tyler kisses Josh on the cheek, and Josh hugs him. After that and ten more minutes of chatting and flirting slightly, Tyler puts the flowers Josh had gotten him into a vase, sets either of their boxes of chocolates on top of the counter in their kitchen, places either of their cards on top of the dresser in Josh’s bedroom, making a note to find a better place for them later, stuffs the H&M giftcard into his wallet, and settles on throwing the Costco bear onto the bed before walking back out to where Josh had remained in the living room, saying, “We should go on a walk, Josh.”

“A walk? It’s cold.”

“We live in Ohio. It’s always cold. Anyways, It’s Valentine’s, and I think we need to rub it in people’s faces how cute we are. I just want to go on a walk anyways, and I also think it’d do you some good if you came with me.” Tyler doesn’t give Josh one of his pointed looks like he’d expected so he figures it one of those times where he has a choice but Tyler still really wants him to comply.

“Alright, alright--I’ll go on a walk with you.”

Tyler grins happily. “I don’t know why I’m getting so excited over going on a walk, but I am.”

In a sing-song voice as Josh walks towards the door, where his wool coat is hanging nearby, he says, “It’s because you love me.”

Tyler rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it, before going and grabbing a jacket to wear over his sweatshirt, just in case it’s too cold for, y’know, just a sweatshirt. He darts back down the hall pretty quickly, and slips on a pair of shoes before he’s tugging Josh out of the door. Josh does make him pause for a second so he can lock the door, but after that, Tyler is free to drag Josh along all he wants.

“So, which direction are we going in?” Josh asks as soon as they step outside of the doors of the complex.

“Left. We always walk right. I need something new in my life, man.”

Josh rolls his eyes before he takes Tyler’s hand, and the two of them start walking. Going right would’ve meant they would’ve passed the diner, Atlantis, a few bars, then they would’ve hit a series of buildings containing a bunch of stores and restaurants and other shit with no correlation to each other whatsoever, and a park.

Going left means… Well, basically the same as going right, except with different shops, bars, and restaurants, and no eventual park for the two of them to sit down and rest for a few minutes before walking back.

“Honestly, I think within the decade I’ve lived in that apartment, I’ve never gone this way when walking.”

“Off topic, but, like, for such a shitty part of Columbus, your apartment sure is nice.”

“The other apartments in the complex are smaller and shittier than mine. There’s two on the floor we live on, but eight on the each of the others. When I moved in, the guy who owned the place at the time said that whoever built the building didn’t put in eight apartments on the top floor, thinking they could get some money out of whichever poor schmuck decided to overpay just to have a ‘loft.’”

“Your apartment isn’t even a loft, dude.”

“Exactly. I mean, it’s the size of a house, a small house, but lofts usually only have one room, plus a bathroom, and they aren’t even as big. _Usually.”_

“Some guy I fucked a few years ago lived in a loft. It was one of those places that you’d dream of having sex in, but, like, I wouldn’t want to live there. There’s no privacy, _at all._ He didn’t live with anyone else, I don’t think, but imagine sharing a loft with someone. Like, you’d imagine you’d get to a point to where you’d want to murder the other person because there’s no _privacy.”_

“Brendon and I rented an apartment together for about five years, and I’m telling you--if we lived in a loft, we wouldn’t have been friends for as long as we were. Lack of privacy is the one sure way to ruin a friendship or a relationship.”

“Exactly, man. Also, _dude,_ I didn’t know there was an adult store on this street,” Tyler points towards a shop across the street, and Josh makes a ‘huh’ kind of face.

“Wanna check it out? If it’s any good, it’d save us the trip across Columbus to get good lube. If not, then it can just be an interesting experience.”

“Optimism, Josh. I’m digging it.” Tyler grins, nods, and they walk to the nearest crosswalk so they can safely and legally walk across the street and to the adult store Tyler had spotted. There’s a neon sign on the door with one of the letters burnt out, saying, “ _18+ ADULTS ONLY.”_

“Well, damn, Tyler. Guess you have to stay out here since you’re twelve.”

“Oh, fuck off, you asshole,” Tyler says with a small frown as he gently elbows Josh before walking into the shop. Tyler stares wide-eyed at everything, mostly since the one Josh gets lube at has nowhere _near_ as much _stuff_ as this one does. He’s about to head towards a certain rack so he can look at something and ask himself, “What the fuck is this?” when the guy behind the counter stops him, saying, “You need to show me your ID.”

Tyler catches the look on Josh’s face, the ‘I’m trying really hard not to laugh at you’ look, that earns him a middle finger. Tyler rifles through his wallet, and out of reflex he pulls out his fake ID, and hands it to the clerk. The guy frowns as he’s reading the information on it, and he eventually looks up at Tyler to say, “Schmidt? You don’t look Jewish.”

And now Josh actually starts laughing, and Tyler’s snatching the fake ID back from the guy, saying, “I really need to throw this away. Uh, here. My real one.”

He gets that one back quicker and a dismissive hand waving him off, meaning Tyler gets to resume his expedition towards the one mystery rack. Josh follows him, and stands next to him, hands in his pocket. “Josh, what _are_ these…?”

“Strap-on harnesses. You’re not a lesbian, so you wouldn’t know.”

“How do _you_ know?”

“I’m thirty two. How would I _not_ know?” Josh counters.

“I don’t know, dude. You didn’t know what Pokemon was until I explained it to you.”

“I spent the nineties doing drugs, and I’ve been a little preoccupied for the past four years with other stuff.” Josh shrugs and looks at a price tag on one of the harnesses curiously before he’s following Tyler to a shelf that the younger man had spotted with a variety of condoms and lube.

“Josh, I feel like a kid in a candy store. Holy shit.” Tyler stares in awe, reading labels on bottles and text on boxes. “I want to buy one of each of these then try them all at some point. Not tonight, obviously.”

“The lubes are all water-based and the condoms are all from a brand that I, personally, don’t recognize, and the price of the condoms are making me weary. Weird brands and low prices aren’t something to go for when buying a condom.”

“What’s wrong with water-based lube and cheap condoms?”

“Nothing’s wrong with the lube. I just like how silicone-based lube feels in comparison to water-based. Condoms, though--every time I’ve used a cheap condom, it’s broken, and we all know my sexual history. My epic sexual history. Point is, if you’re trying to avoid STDs or getting someone pregnant, or if you just want to avoid the mess, it’s worth it to spend a few extra bucks on a box of Durex condoms or Trojans.”

“Wait, okay, this is off topic, but I’ve never gotten to ask you why you keep a condom and a packet of lube in your wallet. This… shelf reminded me that I’ve been meaning to ask since we met, basically.”

“You never know when you’re going to see some hot guy you want to nail. Also, like… I keep those in there just in case. You never know.” Josh shrugs. “Anyways, don’t question it, because me keeping a condom and a packet of lube has saved your ass multiple times.”

“Literally,” Tyler mutters as he’s looking at the back of one of the boxes. “Dude, this is in German, too. This is so shady.”

“I’m a little bummed that I’m still going to have to waste gas driving to the other side of fuckin’ Columbus for good lube.”

“At least we can get condoms at any gas station within walking distance.”

“True, very true. Anyways, let’s go. We’re supposed to be on a walk, not looking at… _things_ in an adult store.”

\---

Once home from the _romantic_ date, Tyler and Josh change into pajamas, and Tyler manages to talk Josh into letting him set up the air mattress in the living room so that he wouldn’t risk pinching a muscle or nerve in his neck from sitting awkwardly on the couch while they watched Titanic. (Tyler had learned that Josh had never seen it before, so he’d basically forced the man to stop at a Blockbuster so they could rqent a copy.)

Tyler spends at least twenty minutes arranging pillows and blankets in their living room, plus moving the coffee table and the two armchairs, before he deems the room fit enough to comfortably watch a three hour movie in.

“This is impractical,” is the first thing out of Josh’s mouth when he sees his living room.

“Have you never done stuff like this before? Like, _y’know,_ had fun?”

“It’d be less work to just buy a TV and a VCR for the bedroom. There’s a bed in there. A comfortable one.”

“Will you just cuddle with me and watch the movie, please? I literally went to all this trouble because I want to watch some dumb movie with you in a fun and cute way because it’s Valentine’s and I’m getting frustrated because you’re being difficult about it and I’m tired because we’ve been busy all day and I just want to relax for the rest of the night, _with you.”_

“I wasn’t--I wasn’t trying to be difficult. I’m sorry.”

“Then get on that bed and watch Titanic with me,” Tyler commands in one of his rare and genuinely frustrated tones.

Josh just nods and obeys the command, not wanting to risk actually upsetting Tyler. Josh settles down on the left side of the bed, and adjusts his pillows until he can comfortably lay on his back while also being able to see the TV, and without hurting his neck. Tyler takes a minute or two to join him, since he has to put the tape in the VCR and press play, and since he has to backtrack through half of the apartment and turn lights off.

Josh thinks that Tyler seems almost sheepish as he scoots over and basically glues himself to him, and he figures that he’s right when he’s saying, “Sorry for snapping.”

“It’s cool, Ty. I think I can find it in myself to forgive you.”

“Still no sex, right?”

“Yep.”

“Alright, good. Not really in the mood anyways,” Tyler’s saying, as if to act like somethingsomething idk im tired ill do it tomorrow


	27. a draft of what's going to happen in endless that im gonna rewrite since honestly it was jus something for me to go off of

After fifteen minutes of no word or appearances from Tyler, Josh decides to grab his wool coat before he steps out of the bar. He’s concerned, and just wants to make sure Tyler’s not, like, dead or anything.

Josh silently curses himself for parking two blocks down the street. He’s had a long day, and walking down the street, in the cold, at night, isn’t at the top of his list of things he wants to do. He didn’t have much of a choice, though. The street was already packed with cars since the fundraiser ended up being more successful than he could’ve ever hoped for.

He can see Tyler in the back seat, curled into himself with his hands clasped over his head in the way he does on the rare occasions when he prays once he’s next to his car. Josh is slightly miffed since he doesn’t like the overhead light on unless necessary, but he uses intuition and common sense to figure out now isn’t the time to say anything because after he taps on the window with his knuckles, he sees Tyler’s eyes, all wet, red, and puffy, and knows he’s been crying.

Josh points towards the lock, and Tyler pushes it down so the older man can open the door. The back seat is already cramped from the keyboard and ukulele, plus the few things Josh keeps back there in case of emergency anyways, but he still manages to cram himself into the seat next to Tyler. As an act of slight passive aggression, he turns the overhead light off, then grabs Tyler by his arms so he can pull him onto his lap. Tyler’s long legs have trouble fitting in the seat without risking breaking something of his, but he manages.

Josh sighs to himself as he shifts a bit so he can basically cradle Tyler and hold him against his chest, shushing him and trying to comfort him. “What happened…?” He asks quietly.

“I’m stressed and everything just  _ hit  _ me all at once,” His voice is strained as he says this, and Josh has to wonder how stressed he actually is if he just broke down out of nowhere. He knows Tyler bottles things up, and he knows that the younger man mostly does it for Josh’s wellbeing as to not put any stress onto him, but Josh still wishes Tyler would talk to him more than he does, and more than offhand mentions of how he’s doing mentally or physically.

“What about, baby boy?”

“Just—fucking everything,” Tyler says with his voice raised and almost yelling. He starts hyperventilating more after saying that, which is something, considering it’d already been pretty bad.

Josh shushes him gently. “Hey, don’t yell. You’re gonna be alright; I got you.” He runs his hand through Tyler’s hair and brushes it out of his face. (He has his hair cut almost the same as Josh’s, and his bangs hit just about damn near his nose. Josh knows he needs to get it cut, but he also knows how much Tyler likes to put things off for as long as possible.) “Did something happen to trigger this, or…?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to out you, and I felt bad and I was obsessing over it the whole walk here, and then I kept thinking about a bunch of other dumb shit I’ve done, and—and now you’re probably gonna be all mad and pissy with me—” 

“I’m not mad, sweetheart. I can handle it. You didn’t do it on purpose, so please,  _ please  _ don’t worry about it. You need to breathe. Think you can do that…?”

Tyler nods, and Josh counts up and down from four with him until his breathing has evened out. It takes three or four minutes, but it happens. “Y’know, on top of all this bullshit, I’m  _ cold.” _

Josh decides to try lightening the mood by quoting one of Tyler’s favorite TV shows.  _ “Well damn, Jackie! I can’t control the weather!” _

Tyler blanks for a few moments before bursting out with laughter. He giggles for at least a few minutes, and Josh would be lying if he said that he didn’t laugh either. Tyler eventually quits laughing, and sits up a little bit so he can kiss Josh. “You’re such a goof. Quit quoting That 70’s Show, man.”

“I was just channeling the Kelso in me,” Josh says with a chuckle as he takes his coat off and drapes it over Tyler.

“Wait—Josh—you’re gonna be cold now—” Tyler whines, as if he’s about to start crying again, but Josh interrupts him before he says anything.

“I’ll be fine. It’s a warm coat. You can wear it until we get home, alright?”

“Fine. Anyways, like, if you’re Kelso, then I’m Jackie.”

“That’s… actually an alright analogy. I’m tall and pretty dumb, and you’re small but not that short, smart,  _ mouthy,  _ and you’re kind of a spoiled little princess.”

Tyler jabs Josh in the arm with his knuckles, similar to how he’d gotten Dallon in the arm not too long ago. “You’re not dumb, and… I can’t argue with the rest. I’m pretty annoying.”

“No you’re not. You’re  _ perfect.”  _ Josh punctuates the statement with a kiss pressed to Tyler’s forehead.

“You big sap.”

  
  


Around noon is when Bell shows up to chew Josh out. Josh was expecting him, so he turns the monitor on his computer off, and puts his pen down so he can talk to him.

_ “Why  _ didn’t you tell me that you—you’re—you’re  _ queer?  _ It could jeopardize my whole campaign!”

“I’m careful not to drag my personal life into my professional one, and it wasn’t really any of your business in the first place, since I’m not fucking you, you’re not my partner, and since you don’t even know me personally. Trust me, if we were friends for whatever reason, I would’ve told you right off the bat. Anyways, I’m, usually, not in the public eye unless I’m spotted with my partner, so I haven’t bothered to  _ come out. _ ”

  
  


Three days after the fundraiser, it’s Valentine’s day. Valentine’s Day fell on a Saturday in 2004, meaning Tyler gets woken up to breakfast in bed. He knows full well that Josh didn’t make it, considering it’s in a carton with  _ Independence Diner  _ engraved onto the top of it, but he still appreciates the sentiment, and he still chows down on it.

When Tyler’s done eating, Josh sits on his thighs, and kisses Tyler right on the lips, trying not to grin the whole time and ruin it. Tyler’s laughing in between kisses, and Josh  _ giggles  _ when Tyler’s hand squeezes his ass. Tyler’s not really angling for sex, but, hey—Josh always laughs whenever he cops a feel.

“What’s gotten into you, man? You’ve never celebrated Valentine’s before. Though, last year you kind of had cancer… Still, though. What’s your trip?”

“I’m trying to be cute and spontaneous. I am dedicating this day to romance and just in general loving on ya.”

“Kinda hard to be cute when you look so… masculine. Like, have you seen your beard, man? Shit’s fluffy as hell.” As if to prove his point, Tyler rubs his hands on Josh’s face, messing his beard up, and Josh makes a face before grabbing Tyler’s wrists to tell him to knock it off.

“Do I have to shave and be mushy to be cute?”

“Nah, man. I was lying. You’re adorable when you’re trying to be romantic. You’re so awkward in your execution, and you get these big doe eyes while you try to gauge my reaction.”

“My eyes are tiny.”

“Not when you’re giving me that dumb look. Like, right now! Your face is all relaxed and your eyebrows are raised so your eyes are just… really open. I know your facial expressions. You are so whipped.”

“You aren’t one to talk about doe eyes, dude. When we first met and you were trying too hard you always stared at me all wistfully with your own doe eyes. You think I didn’t notice, but you’re wrong.”

Tyler huffs and rolls his eyes. “Eat me, J. I’ll at least admit to giving you dumb looks.”

“I give you more dumb looks than you think I do. You’re so  _ cute,  _ and adorable, and  _ gorgeous,  _ so I can’t help it. I can’t wait until you’re older, though. You’re already starting to be a little handsome. I’m totally going to be all over you when you’re older.”

“I’m probably going to develop a kink for old men because of you.”

“Hey, shut up. I’m going to be hot, even when I’m fifty and bald.”

“Bald? You got thick hair.”

Josh tilts his head down a little bit to show Tyler the back part of his hair. “I got a bit of a bald spot.”

“It’s from bleaching your hair so damn much instead of just dying over it. And since you  _ won’t use any coconut oil or conditioner.”  _ Tyler whacks Josh with a pillow.

“I don’t want to stop dying my hair, though. It looks so cool. I’d have to keep bleaching it anyways, though, since my hair is brown underneath.”

“I got to admit, you do look pretty awesome with dyed hair.”

“I think I’ll let it go back to brown at some point. Kinda don’t want to be bald by forty…” Josh makes a face. 

“I will love you even if you look like Mr. Clean. Luckily for me, there hasn’t been one bald head in my family, so I’m always going to have this beautiful mane.”

“And a very beautiful mane it is. Anyways,” Josh climbs off of Tyler’s thighs and gets off of the bed, “I have gifts for you. I went all out. Like, I think I spent at least five hundred dollars.”

“Oh,  _ c’mon!  _ I feel bad because I spent barely thirty, then one of the gifts is free of charge. Quit one upping me.” Tyler whines while he follows Josh out of the bedroom.

“I like spoiling you,” Josh reasons with a shrug.

Tyler just smiles, thoroughly enjoying Josh’s good mood. Josh asks Tyler, “Who goes first? You want to give me gifts first, or?” before they walk into the living room.

“Me. I’ll take less time probably.” Tyler darts back through the hall and to the rarely used extra bedroom. He finds the box of chocolates, the CD sleeve containing a CD with a single song on it, and a sappy card. Tyler spent at least a month perfecting the song. He’s not big on love songs, but Josh, of course, is an exception. It’s not too corny either, which Tyler takes pride in.

“Close your eyes!” Tyler shouts when he’s halfway down the hallway. He walks into the living room, happy that Josh has hands over his eyes. He gently places the chocolates, card, and CD in his lap, then instructs him to open his eyes. “I know you’re not huge on candy or sweets, but you can save them for a bad day or something.”

“What’s the CD for?”

“It’s a song. For you. And it’s not corny.”

Josh smiles sweetly as he gets to sloppily opening the envelope the card is in, and Tyler peers over his shoulder as he reads it.

_ Roses are red, violets are blue, and I hate writing poetry despite being a musician-oo, uh. This isn’t even funny. Hear me out, though—I love you, you are my world, and you’re actually walking into the apartment at this moment so I’m done with this card. Also, I hope you like the chocolates. I made sure to get rid of the raspberry and orange ones since you don’t like those. I replaced them with chocolates from another box. _

_ -Tyler _

Josh smiles wider than Tyler thinks he’s ever seen him smile before. Tyler figures he’s touched by the card—touched that he even went to the trouble of getting him a card in the first place, and that he even thought of the fact that he remembered which chocolates specifically he hates.

“I don’t know where the Walkman is, but I’ll listen to this later when I find it, alright?” Josh says quietly as Tyler’s leaning in for a kiss.

“Listen to it when I’m not around so you can let it sink in or some bullshit like that.” Tyler shrugs. “Anyways, hop-to. I want my gifts.” And now he leans back, arms crossed, giving Josh an expectant look.

“Brat,” he mutters under his breath as he gets up from the couch with a grunt. 

Tyler’s jaw drops when he sees Josh walking back into the room with one of those giant bears from Costco, a box of his favorite chocolates, a card, and his favorite flowers. “Oh my  _ god.  _ I have  _ always  _ wanted one of those bears. Holy shit.” Tyler’s totally not tearing up, making grabby hands for it. “My parents refused every time we were in Costco.”

“Luckily you have me to waste money on you.” 

Tyler’s fascinated with the bear for a few minutes, squeezing it and rubbing the fur on it, before Josh coughs awkwardly and holds his other three presents out to Tyler.

He opens the chocolates first and stuffs one of them into his mouth. “Fuck. I love these. Holy shit.”

“Dude, what about the card?”

“In a second, dude. Let me enjoy the chocolates before I get the waterworks going.” Tyler waves his hand and he eats a few more before finally taking the card.

He opens this one neater than Josh had opened his. Like, way neater. It’s a piece of cardstock paper from a craft store, with two stick figure boys on the front holding hands. One has red hair, colored in with red pen, and the other has… yellow hair, obviously colored in with high lighter.

“There weren’t any gay cards so I made my own. I can’t draw for shit, and I didn’t want to waste money on colored pencils I’d use once, so… y’know.” Josh is sheepish, and avoids eye contact when Tyler looks up at him with his soft, “You’re adorable,” smile.

_ (I’ve never written a note in a Valentine’s card before. Huh.) _

_ You are the strongest person I know, and you’re a lifesaver. I don’t know where I’d be without you; probably dead on the floor from overdosing, or from cancer. This is really corny but I’m looking forward to— _

The next phrase is scribbled out hard enough that Tyler can’t make out what was said, and in its place is a simple,  _ “kissing you after you read this.” _

“That last sentence is bullshit, J. What did you write?” Tyler totally has tears in his eyes, and although he’s touched, he’s curious and he’s not going to give up until he knows.

“It was something stupid.”

“Lies and slander. Tell me what it was.”

Josh mumbles it, knowing full well that Tyler doesn’t catch it.

“What?”

“I don’t want to say it. It’s embarrassing.”

“Josh, I’ve literally cleaned your vomit out of the carpet in the bedroom and I have literally bathed you before. I think we’re past the point of being embarrassed.”

“I had  _ cancer.”  _ Josh waves an arm out and squints at Tyler.

“I said what I said. Will you tell me if I promise not to give you shit for it?”

He mumbles it louder and faster, definitely avoiding eye contact and hoping Tyler doesn’t hear it. “The rest of my life with you. It was stupid and too much but I was in a  _ mood,  _ and—” 

“Come here,” Tyler’s instructing softly as he puts the card and the envelope on the table.

Josh sits next to him on the couch and rests his forehead against his shoulder as Tyler’s long arms wrap around him. “I’m totally down to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Josh pulls away from Tyler so fast. “Wait,  _ seriously?” _

“Dude, we’ve had this conversation before. We already agreed not to make any solid plans, but we’re totally going to get hitched at some point in the future.”

“Was I  _ drunk?” _

“Oh my god,  _ no,  _ you weren’t drunk. You were sleepy and mumbling nonsense to me at like two in the morning like you usually do if you can’t sleep. Anyways, let’s go fuck in the shower so we can go on a date later.”

  
  


“What’s your favorite restaurant?” Josh asks while he and Tyler are getting dressed after their restaurant. It’s only noon at this point, and Josh is still trying to decide how they’re going to kill five hours before he and Tyler, y’know, go on a date.

“Olive Garden,” He says, simply.

Josh knows he’s fibbing, and that he just doesn’t want him to spend money on him. “Something that middle class people can’t afford, Tyler.”

“I’m technically below the poverty line, dude.”

“You have one of my debit cards. You are  _ not  _ poor. You literally have at least six million dollars at your disposal at any given time, and I know you spend my money. I’ve seen my bank account.”

“Well, still. It’s not like I spend a whole lot anyways. Um… I don’t know. We always just went to Olive Garden or restaurants like it growing up, even though we could afford better. You should pick. Surprise me. Aren’t you trying to be cute and spontaneous anyways?”

“You’re the worst person to buy stuff for, I swear.”

“Yet you love me.”

“Of course I do.”

“I am so glad you dropped your apathetic ‘couldn’t give less of a shit’ attitude.”

“Eh, it’s fun loving someone—what can I say?” 

“Especially when it’s someone as amazing as me.”

  
  


“I think this is the first time I’ve been in your office,” Tyler’s saying, mostly to himself, as he looks around Josh’s office at his job.

“It is.” Josh beckons Tyler to lean over his desk, and kisses him sweetly before abruptly pulling away. “Enough of that. You’re not here to kiss me. You’re here for a really good opportunity for… publicity, I suppose.”

“Well, I’m an attention whore, so lay it on me.” Tyler plops down into the chair and sets his big, which he uses to carry textbooks, notebooks, and a few other things necessary for school, down on the floor next to the chair.

“You have spring break next week, right?”

Tyler nods.

“Alright,  _ well,  _ if you’re willing to be sent off to New York, I’ve managed to line up quite the opportunity for you. How would you feel about being a one-time opening act for a big band in front of an audience of ten thousand?”

“Okay, a few hundred is one thing, but… an arena? Really?”

“Think about it. Ten thousand people who are forced to listen to your set. This is only a one-time thing because the band’s original opening act can’t make it to that show specifically, so it’s your time to shine.”

“How did you even…?”

“I know people and I have every single song you’ve ever given or sent me on this computer right here. I’m what you’d call a miracle worker.”

“Wow. Holy shit. Um. Yeah. I think… I think I can do that, yeah.  _ Shit.” _

  
  


“Why can’t Brendon just go with you like he usually does whenever you leave Columbus?” Dallon asks as he’s picking Tyler up at six in the morning on a Monday.

“Because he told me ‘no’ and since you’re my partner’s best friend.”

“Wait—best friend? I’m Josh’s best friend?”

Tyler snorts at the gob smacked look on Dallon’s face. “He told me himself. Not like he’s been talking to Brendon anyways. Though, I reserve the  _ best  _ best friend place because he loves me.” Tyler rubs the last sentence in Dallon’s face, sarcastically of course, and the thirty five year old just shakes his head. “Also, Dallon, to answer your question, it’s because I need a chauffeur since my license is expired and since I don’t have the confidence to navigate New York. And also since I don’t have a car. I’m gonna try working on that.”

“Ask Josh?”

“He’s going to end up buying me a sports car or something insanely expensive if I ask. I’m fine with an economy compact. Also, I rarely ask him for stuff, and I’d feel bad if he actually bought me a freaking car.”

“Maybe a Cadillac? I’ve always wanted a Cadillac. They aren’t too wild as far as price goes, especially if you can get an older model.”

“A twenty one year old driving a Cadillac?”

“Dude, you’re a label queen. Your outfit right now is worth at least half of what I make in a year. Your sweater? Pretty sure that’s Yves. Your jeans? From H&M, at least fifty bucks. And your shoes? Prada. You dress like a pretentious hipster with way too much money. Oh, also, your jacket? Don’t even get me started. You already look like hot shit.”

Tyler squints. “Fine, alright, I let Josh take me shopping and I enjoy it. Also, you literally save your money so you can go shopping for expensive shit once a year. Don’t think I can’t tell what brand your freaking wool coat comes from, Mister Prada.”

“Hey, listen, I bust my ass, and I have a Master’s.”

“A Master’s in  _ what?  _ Music?”

“Economics, actually.”

“For real? Why the fuck are you teaching music history?”

“Moving to New York to chase some wild pipe dream of being a stockbroker was a little far fetched.”

“Brendon dated a stockbroker who lived in Columbus.”

“I bet he subconsciously has a stockbroker kink. If I was a stockbroker, a good one, I’d spoil him rotten. He always comes home all exhausted from work and sometimes without anything to show for it. Man, I’d buy him the world if I could.”

“I still get so shocked whenever you talk about him. I can’t imagine being in love with him.”

“Listen, he’s a dick, like, I’ll admit that, and he really needs to shut up sometimes because he runs his mouth, but he’s a really good person. Like, I don’t know… we just click. And it helps that we have a full disclosure policy. He tries his best, even if his best includes snapping at you and insulting Josh.”

“I hold grudges too much, especially when it comes to everyone’s favorite advertising executive.”

“You love him, dude. If it wasn’t for the fact that I get ulcers whenever I’m stressed that make me cough blood, I’d hold grudges too.”

“What are we going to talk about for the next eight hours?” Tyler asks, since they’re finally on the freeway.

“You could sleep, we could listen to music, and we could totally have deep conversations. Have I ever told you about the time I was in a relationship with a lesbian heroin addict?”

“I need… I need context. What the fuck, Dallon?”

“Okay, alright—she’s the kind of person that, if I were straight, I would’ve ended up marrying. Excluding the fact that she was a heroin addict. Uh, we met in my first semester of college, in Idaho of all places, and I was feeling shitty since it was going to be my first Christmas without my family, y’know?”

Tyler says, “Yeah,” to confirm that he’d been listening.

“She invited me to a party, and I went, and we got high then fucked. Like, she knew I was gay, I knew she was a lesbian, but were so high, heroin of course, and, yeah… It was pretty… Pretty insane. Now, imagine that for four-ish years before she disappeared, then another two years without her.”

“I can’t believe you had a lesbian lover. Like, I know this is serious, but I can’t help laughing.”

“Josh had about the same reaction when I explained it to him. I think… I’m pretty sure you were in Cincinnati, with Brendon, so we just hung out and binged on potato chips.”

“I’m glad you’re his friend, man. He needs someone who is not only just about his age, but who gets some of the shit he goes through on a personal level. I mean, I understand some of the drugs and alcohol stuff, but not as much as you do. See, you talk to him when he’s having an urge to relapse, and I talk to him about the depression and anxiety stuff.”

“He comes to me for advice about you a lot, honestly.”

“What?  _ Why?” _

“He is so far up your ass he could chew your food for you. You make him so nervous, and whenever he does something especially nice for you out of nowhere, I usually have a hand in it. Like, your birthday? I gave him the idea for flowers, a date, and then sex. He’s trying to learn how to be romantic and a good boyfriend.”

“Oh my god, dude, did I tell you what he wrote and scribbled over in my Valentine’s card?” Tyler gives Dallon wide eyes.

“Was it the spending the rest of his life with you thing?”

“God, yeah. Like, we’ve already talked about it. He almost started crying—he was so embarrassed. I felt so bad, but I had to laugh about it because, like, I already knew.”

  
  


The eight hour car ride ends up taking more like ten hours since they have to stop every once in a while for gas, bathroom breaks, snack breaks, and actual meal breaks. They chat along the way, Tyler sleeps for at least a third of the time in the car, and they try singing along to classic rock. Dallon does alright, and Tyler tells him he has a good voice. Tyler doesn’t know most of the lyrics unless it’s Journey or Blue Oyster Cult, but Dallon is like a fountain of classic rock information.

Tyler does open up about something personal near the end of the ride since he’s tired and just a little weepy, since he’d changed his antidepressant recently, and since his mood hadn’t evened out quite yet. “I miss my brother so much. My mom took him when she left my dad, and I haven’t seen him since then. He was eight the last time I saw him. He should be eleven or twelve now.”

“Have you tried talking to your mother?”

“No. She won’t acknowledge my existence. She’s… She’s abusive too, and I worry about my little brother a lot, but I can’t do anything about it and it kills me, y’know? My dad’s been trying to get custody, but judges are just… They always favor the mother in situations like that. Mom’s good at playing the victim anyways.” Tyler sighs. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I just—I thought of it.”

“It’s alright, man. Don’t sweat it. I’m all ears if you ever need to talk about stuff like that. Try asking your mom if you can see him. Maybe take him out for a day or something. Get ice-cream or something, maybe buy him a few things, and possibly a fun activity. It’s fucked up if she’s keeping you from your  _ brother.  _ I’m an only child so I don’t really get the sibling stuff, but can imagine that it hurts.”

“It does, man, it really does.”

  
  


“Are you… are you sure you want to rehearse in front of me?”

“I don’t care if you’re in here or not, bro. I just need to make sure my set flows good. Are you cool with sitting here for forty five minutes?”

“Forty five?”

“Yep. That’s how long I have. Their opening act must be real good if they get that much time.”

“God, yeah. Holy shit.”

“Anyways, sit, sit,” Tyler waves towards the couch in the hotel room they’re sharing. He takes a minute or two to set up his keyboard and to make sure the settings are right before grabbing a chair from the desk, placing it behind the keyboard so he can sit down.

“Also, uh, usually I have more stuff than just a piano, since I’m a solo artist, and since I need, like, drums and other bits in the background.”

“You’re alright. Didn’t think you were so anal over your music.”

“I’m gay.”

“Can it. That’s not what I meant.”

Tyler rolls his eyes, and takes a deep breath before getting to it. Tyler looks up a few times to gauge his reaction, and it takes everything in him not to laugh at the wide-eyed sort of look Dallon is giving him.

The second song is obviously about a certain  _ someone  _ (Josh) and Dallon gives Tyler a suggestive look before going back to his shocked one when Tyler’s belting out notes. Like, impressive ones.

And the third one sounds upbeat but the lyrics are sad. It was intentional, and exactly what Tyler was going for. It’s one of his favorites out of anything he’s done, honestly.

The fourth one is the one they heard on the radio that one time. Dallon has to pop in with his feedback between the fourth and fifth one, saying, “That last one is, like… Really fucking good, dude. Like, those  _ lyrics— _ I can relate to that stuff. It seriously hit close to home for me, so good job. Anyways, go on.”

The fifth and sixth songs don’t warrant actual words from Dallon like the fourth one had, but he still has an impressed look on his face. “Okay, uh, this next one is… It’s one of my favorites. It’s one of the ones I was singing at the fundraiser. Sorta about Josh, sort of about existential stuff, sort of about general life things.”

Tyler ends up crying on the last song, but powers through it. Dallon asks if he’s alright, and he just explains himself. “That one always gets me choked up. I was crying when I recorded it too, honestly. The upbeat part is where I  _ stop  _ crying, but you know.” He waves a hand dismissively.

  
  


And then the concert happens. Tyler shows up early in the morning, since he still needs to meet the band and make friends. The four members of said band like him, thankfully. Also, sound check and rehearsals and all that jazz.

Tyler has to admit that having a crowd of ten thousand people cheering for him is a little overwhelming, and he’d be lying if he didn’t tear up just from being overwhelmed.

He calls Josh on the phone afterward while he stands behind the venue smoking his twice yearly cigarette. “I just got done with the thing.”

_ “Yeah? How’d it go?” _

“Well, I didn’t choke, so that’s… That’s good. I cried near the end, then started crying again before I was off the stage. Like, not a bad crying. I mean, the first one was kind of a bad cry, but the second one was more like I was overwhelmed and excited. Like, do you know what it’s like having ten thousand people cheering for you? It’s fucking insane. I was also a cheeky shit and told everyone my LiveJournal and Myspace usernames. I hope more people pay attention to me after that. It’d be fun.”

_ “You sound like you need a hug, honestly.” _

“Ugh, I do. I need a hug, something to eat, and five more packs of cigarettes to smoke.”

_ “Uh-huh. How about you turn about ninety degrees to the left.” _

“Oh, you fucker!” Tyler shouts as he turns. He’s pretty quick about running over to Josh and all but knocking him over from hugging him so quickly. “Why are you here?”

“Decided to keep my tradition of showing up last minute to important things,” He says quietly and sorta playfully as he’s returning the hug. He also lets out a quieter, “I’m proud of you, Tyler,” which gets him tearing up  _ again,  _ because he knows Josh definitely means it since he rarely uses his actual name instead of a pet name. “I’d probably kill myself emotionally if I hadn’t have come anyways.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Tyler mumbles quietly.

Tyler calls Dallon and tells him to just leave the venue without him, and explains that Josh had shown up last minute.

Tyler gets stopped about five hundred times while he and Josh are trying to get back to his rental car. A lot of people just ask him questions, like what’s his name, where’s he from, if he has any albums they can buy. Tyler tells them the only place to buy anything of his is at Brendon’s shop, and he gives them the address if they’d like to order something specifically, or magically pop up in Ohio to buy something.

A few more people ask him who  _ the guy  _ with him is, if he’s famous or something, and Tyler just snorts and dodges the question since Josh doesn’t want to be outed on a huge level, and since he’s a little wary of outing himself in the first place at the moment. He can handle Columbus, but he’s not sure about New York.

Josh drives back to the hotel, but before they go inside to, y’know, sleep, Josh pulls Tyler into the backseat, kissing him and being gentle with him instead of forceful or rough like he usually is. (And, no, he doesn’t ever force Tyler into doing things.)

Tyler’s gentle too and he figures they should probably speed things up to lessen the risk of getting caught, but Josh had his windows tinted, and, like, this is a night Tyler wants to spend with him anyways. Josh still has a tendency to express his emotions and affection through sex and Tyler, what with being at his sexual peak and all, is more than alright with it and happy to oblige.

“Been a while since we’ve fucked in the car,” Tyler says breathily while Josh fingers him open, kissing him once in a while he’s at it. It’s a little hasty, since Josh realizes they really shouldn’t take too long, or at least Tyler assumes.

Tyler makes a face when Josh is reaching into the console for a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. A very convenient box of condoms and bottle of lube, as if Josh were planning this.  _ He probably was. _ “I like it better when you don’t use condoms.”

“We’re in a rental car, and I’d prefer not to get spunk on the seats.”

“You’re no fun.”

Josh rolls his eyes before he unbuckles his belt then unbuttons his slacks. The sound of his zipper unzipping is music to Tyler’s ears, and he has to refrain from snorting when Josh folds up his and Tyler’s jackets to place under the younger’s hips to prop them up a little bit, making the experience a little easier.

“I forgot how convoluted car sex is.”

“Can’t exactly kick Dallon out of your hotel room for an hour or so. Enough with the chit-chat, though. We need to hurry this up.”

“Oh, rushed car sex? You better make this worth my while if it’s going to be quick. You also better order me some expensive stuff from the room service menu.”

As Josh is pushing in, he asks, “And why do you assume I’m staying here?”

Tyler lets out a breath before he answers. “For one thing, go a little slower, and it’s because I’m here and you can’t stand to be apart from me.”

Tyler can see the small shake of Josh’s head before he’s being kissed to shut him up. Despite saying they needed this to hurry up, Josh was totally taking his time.

They finally emerge from the car a good fifteen minutes later, Josh with his shirt buttoned a little funky, Tyler with his wrong side out, and both of them sporting sex hair, plus Tyler limping slightly and Josh with a protective arm around him while Tyler leads him to the hotel room.

Dallon scoffs loudly the second they step into the room. “Of course that’s why the two of you fell off of the face of the earth.”

“I’m at my sexual peak, man.” Tyler shrugs and walks over to his suitcase. Josh is a little caught off guard when Tyler just strips down to his underwear in the middle of the goddamn room so he can change into something more comfortable.

“Hey, Dallon? Do you happen to have a shirt and a pair of PJ bottoms I can borrow?” Josh asks awkwardly.

“You can borrow pants. Tyler has, like, three of your shirts.”

“Dude, you have to quit stealing my shirts.” Josh gives Tyler a look, and Tyler shrugs again before balling one up and throwing it across the room.

  
  


There are another few months of uneventfulness in Tyler’s life before he works up the courage to show up at the condo his mother rents and shares with his little brother. He got the address from his dad and a warning not to try picking any fights unless his mother picks one first. Also, since his talk with Dallon in the car, the thought of his brother being in an unsafe environment was nagging him almost relentlessly. Of course, he misses him too and all that stuff.

It’s the first week of June at this point, and it’s already way too hot. Tyler straight up told Josh before he left the apartment that he was borrowing his car. (“It’s way too hot for me to bother waiting for a cab, and your car has decent air conditioning.”)

Tyler rings the doorbell, and puts his hands into the pockets of his jeans while he waits for someone to answer. It’s his mother, of course, and she’s about to close the door in his face, but Tyler has a hand on the door before she can. “Will you hear me out and not slam the door in my face?”

“The last time you spoke to me you called me a cunt, yet you expect me to  _ hear you out?” _

“You’re still my mom, homophobe or not.”

She sighs and just walks back into the condo, not closing the door, so Tyler follows her and closes it behind him. The house is immaculate, and spotless, which isn’t a surprise to Tyler for some reason. She looks tired and almost defeated, Tyler notices.

“You here to tell me you have AIDS and want free healthcare?” She asks, snidely.

“Okay, for one thing, if I had AIDS I’d probably already be in a hospital. HIV and AIDS are two very different things, and, no, I don’t have either of them. I’m still in a relationship with Josh and we’re monogamous. Anyways, I was going to ask if I could see my brother, and possibly hang out with him for the day since I haven’t seen him since you left Dad, and since I miss him.”

“Why haven’t you showed up sooner?” She turns around from where she was working on doing dishes to give Tyler a nasty look.

“You won’t fucking talk to me. That’s why. You won’t talk to me and I had to get your address from Dad.”

She sighs and wipes the back of her hand across her forehead. “What would you do if I were to let you ‘hang out’ with him today?”

“Go get something to eat, maybe go to a movie or something and just… catch up. It’s been almost four years. I’m sure we have a lot to fill each other in on.”

Tyler goes back and forth with her for a few minutes before she’s saying, “He’s in his room. Second door to the left in the hallway upstairs.”

Tyler nods, and his mother allows him to hug her for a split second before he’s stepping up the stairs. Tyler lets out a breath before he knocks on the door.

_ “Mom, for the last time, I’m playing videogames! Leave me  _ alone!”

Tyler scoffs. “I pulled your hair when you were eight and I’ll do it again, you little asshole,” he’s saying in a slightly raised voice. The door opens within five seconds and Tyler has an armful of eleven or twelve year old, hugging him tightly.

“Oh my god, I missed you, dude,” The younger of the Joseph brothers is saying.

Tyler pats his head, since it barely comes up to his ribcage.  _ Though, I’m tall, and he’s barely hitting puberty… That’d explain it. _ “I missed you too, man.”

Tyler’s brother pulls away eventually and looks up at him, asking, “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, well—I haven’t seen you in forever, and I was wondering if you wanted to hang out today or something. Like, I mean nothing major, but maybe lunch and a movie or something if you’re cool with it…?”

“I hate movie theaters,” He pouts and makes a face.

“Then no movie. I’m sure there’s other shit to do in Columbus.” Tyler shrugs.

“Can I, uh, put some shoes on?” he asks excitedly.

“No, you have to go barefoot,” Tyler remarks sarcastically. His brother sticks his tongue out at him.

  
  


“Dude, holy crap, you have an awesome car,” Zack’s saying with wide eyes the second he gets a look of the car Tyler had arrived in.

“It’s not mine. It’s my, uh, boyfriend’s car. I don’t have one of my own. Too hot to take a cab and the air conditioning is good, so I didn’t give him much of a choice when I borrowed it.” Tyler shrugs a bit and unlocks the door.

Before he leaves, he pats his pockets, making sure he has everything he needs.  _ Keys? Check. Phone? Check? Wallet? Not check.  _ “Shit. I left my wallet at home. Uh. Dude, are you cool if I go home for a minute to get it? Can’t really do anything without money.”

“Yeah, man, that’s fine.” He’s talking a little too fast and he’s smiling and Tyler, honestly, is smiling too. He’s excited.

  
  


On the way back to the apartment, Zack pipes up again, saying, “I’m cool with you being gay, by the way. Mom goes on and on about it, but you’re my big brother and I’ve always looked up to you and all that stuff.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you’re cool with it.”

“Oh, man, by the way—every time I’m in the car with Ma, that one song of yours plays at least once. It’s such a slap in the face to her. I laugh every time.”

“Good. I’m glad. Serves her right.”  _ Bitch. _

  
  


When Tyler’s parked in the parking garage next to the apartment, he’s asking, “Do you, uh, wanna meet my boyfriend…?”

“Is he the asshole you were banging when you were still in high school?”

“Yes, and he’s not an asshole. I don’t think you ever actually met him, so I was just curious.”

The boy shrugs and puffs his chest out a bit as he says, “I guess I should. Gotta make sure he’s treating my big bro right.”

Tyler rolls his eyes before finally getting out of the car. “He’s a total softy. Don’t worry. Also, follow me.”

“Why do you need a card to get in?” Is what Tyler’s being asked as he’s swiping his keycard.

“Prevents thieves. A lot of, uh… well to do people live here. Including my boyfriend. Though, I still wonder how our friends get in here without a keycard…” Tyler has a quizzical look on his face as he’s leading the way to the elevator.

The elevator ride is silent, mostly since Tyler’s answering a text from Ashley throughout the whole thing.

“Yo, why’s there only two apartments on this floor?”

“Because it’s a huge apartment, and it’s the top floor anyways. He pays out the ass for rent, but it’s a really nice place. Like, it’s about the size of an actual house.”

“Is he your sugar daddy or something?”

“No, he’s not my  _ sugar daddy.  _ He does pay for a lot of my stuff, but that’s not why we’re together,” Tyler states as he unlocks the door. “Josh!” Tyler shouts as he sets his keys down on the counter in the kitchen. (The kitchen is right next to the door.)

His head pokes out of the bedroom before he actually steps into the hallway and heads towards Tyler. Tyler gets a hug and a peck on the cheek, then Josh asks, “Who’s your little doppelganger here?”

“Uh, Josh, this is my brother, and little brother, this is Josh.”

Josh shakes his hand and smiles politely.

“Anyways, I’m lovin’ this little pow-wow, but I’m only here to grab my wallet.  I was gonna hit the diner, then… maybe hit one of the malls since someone doesn’t like movie theaters. Do you like shopping?” The last question is asked to Zack.

“I’m always up for free stuff.”

“And you’re sure he’s not your clone?” Josh asks with a shit eating look on his face.

Tyler jabs him in the arm. “You can’t rag on me for that when you’re the one who insists on buying me shit all the time.”

  
  


Josh has spaghetti and garlic bread on the table, still hot, by the time Tyler gets home. Tyler thanks him and gives him a pretty tight hug. “Why the dinner?”

“Wanted to do something nice for you, and spaghetti is all I know how to make. Bought the garlic bread from Walmart a few days ago.”

“I like how you’re all bashful,” Tyler remarks with a smirk.

“I get nervous around you, alright? Anyways, sit down, eat, and tell me about your day.” Josh waves towards Tyler’s usual seat before he’s sitting in his own.

“Well, my little brother is already a fucking label queen. I’m not even going to tell you how much money I spent on him today, but it was a lot. Bought clothes, videogames, snacks that my mom won’t buy him, a few pairs of shoes since his weren’t the best and since Mom apparently keeps putting off buying him a new ones, and then he managed to talk me into buying him a GameCube and a bunch of dumb Mario games that he’s been wanting to play.”

“I don’t play games often, but you better have bought him Sunshine. That shit is the bomb, and the only Mario I’ve played since Super Mario World.”

“Well, I mean, it’s so happy looking and colorful. That’s half of why I like it honestly. Also, it’s so fucking  _ weird.  _ Like, Mario games are usually side scrollers, but this one wasn’t, and had a bunch of weird mechanics.”

“I have no idea what half of that means, but I’m glad you like it.”

“That’s the first sign of getting old; not knowing what I mean when I get technical with videogames.” 

“I am not  _ old.” _ Josh kicks Tyler’s shin, gently, under the table and squints at him.

“Get your foot off me unless you’re trying to play footsie.”

Josh rolls his eyes. “Anyways, back to your brother; how is he doing…? Like, with your mom and all?”

“I didn’t pester him about it, but it sounds like it’s going worse than it was before she left Dad. Dad’s always the one to mediate things whenever mom would flip her shit or get drunk or something, but he’s not there to do that anymore. She’s a real big fan of corporal punishment, yknow…?”

“Sounds familiar,” Josh says with a bit of a frown. Tyler knows he’s talking about his father. “I wish there was more you guys could do for him. It sucks living with a shitty parent. I mean, look what it did to me.”

“Hey, hey—you’re still a good person, J. Shit happens. I dunno. Dad’s planning to try filing for custody again, and similar to last time, I’m going to testify or whatever. I don’t think that’s the word, but, like, I’m gonna say my own thing. It was a while ago when he did it anyways, so who knows. Maybe the judge will be better next time. Also, I’m gonna see if I can talk Jenna into representing him since she’s a fucking  _ spectacular  _ lawyer.”

“You’re a good person, Tyler.”

“Eh, I try.”

  
  


Tyler ends up at the diner on the first of July, since  _ Bell  _ has a press conference, and since he, Pete, Jenna, Dallon, and Brendon want to see what happens. All of them are curious as to what issues he’s going to talk about, what questions he’s going to answer. Tyler still despises the guy, as does everyone else.

When Jenna shows up at the diner, Tyler flips his shit. “Oh my god! Your  _ belly!”  _ He’s giddy and smiling really wide and he’s basically obsessed. “It’s huge!”

“They need to come out already,” She grumbles grumpily. “My doctors are estimating August. I’m ready, honey, I am ready. Twins are hard work, I swear.” 

Tyler just grins again and helps her sit at the counter. “Well, hard work or not, I’m really excited. I know they aren’t gonna be my kids, but, like, I’m so looking forward to babysitting.”

“And changing diapers and bottle feeding when that happens?”

“Like Josh actually did that shit whenever he was supposed to be babysitting Nathan.” Tyler rolls his eyes. “He’s clueless and doesn’t know how to change a diaper or how to warm up a bottle. I had experience with my little brother so I gave up trying to explain and just did it for him.”

“Well, you’re sweet.” She smiles slightly and Tyler hugs her.

Tyler and Jenna are at one end of the counter, and Dallon and Brendon are on the other, while Pete’s behind it, washing cups, when it starts. It’s boring shit, mostly people asking about crime rate, and what he would do legislatively to… improve the state of Ohio, until one person pipes up from the back of the crowd, shouting, “What do you have to say about the allegations that you’re a homophobe?”

“Oh, no fuckin’ shit,” Pete mutters as he scoffs slightly, watching on.

“I’m very supportive of that community. Hell, just a while back I donated a hefty sum of money to help the Ohio LGBT Center.” After this, Josh leans forward from his place behind Bell, and whispers something into his ear. “Pardon me, it was the AIDS hospice. I misspoke. Anyways, my top advisor, Joshua Dun, is gay, so do you really think I would’ve hired him if I was a homophobe?”

Tyler stares wide eyed at the TV. “Well, there goes my fucking evening. He’s going to be ranting about this for hours, I swear.”

“Tyler, what’s that look on his face mean? You’re the translator of ‘Josh looks.’” Brendon asks as he leans forward to look at the twenty one year old without Dallon being in the way.

“I’m going to assume his thoughts are something like, ‘Well, I’m fucked.’”

“Oh, that’s real fucking shitty,” Dallon mutters as he leans back so he can knock back the rest of the can of soda he was drinking. “I hate straight people. Like, you can’t just out someone as your token gay.”

“Josh officially outed me near the beginning of my senior year in high school, and we all know how that ended up. I’m an example of why you shouldn’t out people. I mean, probably would’ve come out that year anyways, but it would’ve been on my terms.”

“Wait, how’d he out you?” Jenna asks, eyebrows drawn together.

Tyler figures it’s the lawyer in her. “He took me to school on the last day, I think, of the first week, with the word ‘faggot’ spray painted onto the side of his car. He also threatened to kick the guy who later bashed me at my prom’s ‘tight little virgin ass’ if he ever spoke to me that way again. He didn’t exactly do that, but he did bust one of his knee caps with the bat that almost killed me.” Tyler shrugs then orders a beer after that, and flashes his fake ID on accident.

“Tyler, you’re twenty one. You realize that, right?” Pete’s saying with a bit of a grin as he’s filling that order.

“Force of habit, man. I keep forgetting I’m old enough to legally drink.”

“Even though you look twelve.”

“Can it, Brendon.” Tyler reaches around Dallon to whack the back of Brendon’s head, and when Brendon reaches around Dallon to do the same thing, Dallon grabs his arm and gives him a  _ look. _

Pete makes eye contact with Brendon, and makes a whipping noise, and Tyler has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Oh, what? He can hit me but I can’t hit back?”

“No, because I know you, and I know you’re going to escalate it. Both of you keep your hands to yourself.” Dallon lets go of his arm after this and puts his own back on the counter so he can return his attention to the press conference. “I can’t believe he actually just outed Josh. He’s so careful to be closeted, too. Christ.”

“It’s fucking bullshit that Bell did that if you ask me,” Brendon’s saying around a mouthful of hamburger.

“Yeah, no shit,  _ honey.”  _ Enter Pete’s smart-ass response, stage left.

  
  


Tyler’s right about how his evening goes. The second Josh is in the door, he’s throwing his blazer onto the couch, and he starts pacing back and forth, and in front of the TV. “Josh, babe, if you’re going to pace, do it behind the couch. I’m watching TV.”

Josh doesn’t listen to him, but rather gives him a look before he continues on with his pacing. “You don’t just fucking out people on the news that half of fucking Ohio and probably a fuck ton of my clients are going to see,” Josh half-shouts eventually.

“Josh, I wish I had some inspirational and comforting stuff to say to you other than, ‘Shit happens, and you’ll get past it.’”

“Don’t want you feeding me full of shit anyways. I can’t  _ fucking believe  _ he did that. I was too fucking shocked and pissed to even chew him out, y’know?! What if my parents didn’t know? What if I was married or something like that? What if I had kids who I didn’t want knowing I was gay? What if my fucking brother didn’t know? Don’t even get me started on my clients. This could so totally bone me.  _ Fuck!” _

“Well, your dad’s dead, your mom knows, your brother knew when you were, like, twenty apparently, Nathan’s going to be five in January and is too young to really care about that shit, and he wouldn’t in the first place given he’s being raised by lesbians, and the twins aren’t even born yet, and I’m sure a lot of your clients will probably just be like, ‘It’s your personal life, you can do what you want.’”

“Tyler, a  _ lot  _ of the people I work with are middle aged conservative white men with thinning hair. They’re already iffy with me since my hair’s highlighter yellow right now and since I’m obviously not one hundred percent white, and me being gay is just frosting on top of the shit cake.”

“See, that’s why your mom should’ve married a Lebanese guy instead of a Japanese guy, because I can at least pass for a really tan white guy.”

“Your eyes aren’t brown either, so that helps,” Josh points out.

“Yeah, but yours are a really light brown. A lot of white people have really light brown eyes, y’know?”

“And where are you pulling these statistics from?”

“Debby, Pete, Brendon.”

“Pete’s not white, dude, and his eyes are green. Also Brendon’s half Hawaiian.”

“What about Joe?”

“He’s Israeli.”

“Aren’t people from Israel white?”

“I have no idea, dude. I’m not Jewish or Israeli.” Josh makes a weird face at the beginning of that before sighing. “Anyways, enough about our friends not being white. What the fuck am I going to do?”

“Take it a day at a time, Josh. That’s what I’ve always told you to do, and it works. I do the same thing. You don’t have any meetings until Monday, and next week is supposed to be a relatively calm week, right?”

Josh puts a hand on his hip and waves the other one around a bit. “Quit being right and really wise about everything, man. You’re cramping my style.”

“What  _ style?  _ You have expensive shit but you can’t coordinate your outfits worth a crap.”

“Pardon you, I’m fucking hot.”

“And who coordinates your outfits and gets onto you if you wear something that clashes?”

Reluctantly, he replies with, “You do.”

“Exactly. Before you met me, you were a tacky mess. Anyways, take your shoes and tie off and get your tacky ass over here so we can cuddle and pretend everything’s alright.” Tyler pats the spot on the couch next to him, and looks at Josh expectantly. Tyler can tell that he must be really,  _ really  _ anxious, especially since he doesn’t say anything, and since he also doesn’t hop at the chance, instead just slowly taking his tie and shoes off before laying with his eyes closed and head in Tyler’s lap.

Tyler runs his fingers through Josh’s brittle hair, making a mental note to force him to grow it out for a few years before dying it again. Josh basically purrs, leaning into it as best as he can, eventually mumbling, “I love you so much, Tyler.”

“I love you too, Josh,” Tyler responds easily and honestly.

“How do you always rationalize things?” He opens his eyes now, and Tyler smiles softly and puts a hand on Josh’s cheek, wishing he wasn’t looking so defeated right now. During the few seconds it takes him to respond, he notices that Josh is… definitely aging. At twenty nine, Josh was essentially wrinkle free, but obviously not young, but at thirty three, the lines on his face are more noticeable, and the bags under his eyes aren’t the best either. He’s got frown lines near his eyebrows, and crow’s feet starting up at the corner of, y’know, his eyes.

“Because I have to do it for myself all the time. I’m pretty good at it.”

“You are. Okay, excuse how… corny this is, but, like, we gotta be soul mates.”

“Not arguing. I think about it a lot. Honestly, I believe in the multiverse theory and I believe in reincarnation, and, like… I think that in every lifetime we’ve lived, every universe we exist in—I think we find each other, and even if we aren’t together, we’re best friends at least. I honestly think about what a universe where we’re about the same age would be like.”

“You’d fucking hate me at twenty one. Or… twenty two, given our birthdays are six months apart. I was annoying and bratty at twenty two. Also, I had a boyfriend anyways.”

“Honestly? I probably would.” Tyler grins and leans down far enough to peck Josh on the lips. “That’s a lie. I probably would’ve been all over you. You were so adorable when you were younger. Still hot, but, like… Really adorable. A cutie.”

“And I’m not cute now?”

“You’re still adorable, but you’re more hot and handsome now. Like, I looked like a twelve year old when you met me, and now I look at least fourteen.”

“Fourteen my ass. You look at least fifteen.”

“Shut  _ up.  _ I will fight you.”

“I’m more fat than muscle right now, but I will totally kick your ass.”

“Well, I’m more skin and bones than I am muscle, aside from my fuckin’ thick thighs, but I’d say we’re evenly matched.” Tyler knows that, even now, Josh could definitely take him in a fight, but he likes to tease. “Anyways, could you take me? You got a bit of a belly, mister.”

“I do  _ not  _ have a bit of a belly. I have a tiny bit of pudge that I had before I lost a bunch of weight and muscle. Anyways, I still weigh, like… Thirty-ish pounds less than I did since I got no muscle.”

“Well, muscle is hard to get, and muscle weighs more than fat anyways. You look about the same as you did.”

“My fat is weird, dude. It’s distributed in a way that makes it look like I have muscle.”

“Mine does the same thing whenever I’m at a healthy weight, honestly.”

“I wonder what you’d look like if you were fat.”

“I get dad fat. Like, I look like I have a beer belly. I had a fat phase in middle school.”

“Well, either way,  _ you  _ need to eat more. I’m older, and I should be taking care of you.”

“Dude, I try my best. I apparently have EDNOS, but not because of self esteem issues.”

“What’s that?”

“Basically means I have an eating disorder, but it’s not specific. I get hella guilty whenever I eat more than I usually do for whatever reason. I dunno. My mom always got onto me after the fat phase I told you about, so I quit eating as much just to get her off my back. Like, I’ve always been alright with my body, but, man, she wasn’t. Bitch.”

Josh snorts and laughs at the way Tyler had said ‘bitch.’

“Give me until November and I’ll probably start working less, since that’s the election month. I’ll totally make sure you eat three square meals a day. Maybe this year I’ll also finally follow through with my promise of a vacation.”

“You don’t gotta, J.”

“Course I do. You need to see the world, dude. You ever been to Europe? It’s fucking beautiful there.”

“My passport expired around the time I was sixteen, man. It’s probably going to be a nightmare getting one now since I’m technically Middle Eastern, and we all know what 9/11 did to America. Dad got enough shit after that. Probably won’t be as bad for me, but even my driver’s license has something on it about not being white. Got flack from a cop the one time I got a speeding ticket in, like, 2002.”

“You got a  _ ticket?” _

“You were already iffy with me borrowing your car, so it’s not like I was about to tell you I got caught speeding in it. You would’ve killed me. Hell, you get frustrated with me when I turn the overhead light on.”

“You’re not wrong, and I just don’t want it to burn out, because they’re a bitch to replace.”

“Uh-huh. How are you feeling right now? Calmer?”

“Yeah, honestly. I like having dumb conversations with you. Always helps.”

“One more quick conversation. Have you seen Jenna’s belly? It’s fucking  _ huge.” _

“Haven’t seen or talked to her since April. She wasn’t too big then.”

“Oh, man, it’s insane. You should go see her. One of the babies kicked today too. Did she tell you what names she picked out?”

“Nope. Like I said, I haven’t spoken with her since April.”

“Elle and William.”

“Ironic. That last one is my middle name.”

“I honestly think that’s why she did it. Not like she’d ever admit it to you, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Why Elle?”

“She said she was going to go with Eleanor, since she’s apparently been listening to Eleanor Rigby nonstop, but Deb talked her out of it, saying it was too nerdy.”

“I think Eleanor sounds better than Elle, but that’s just me.”

“At least she’s a dyke and not a fag, because you know the girl twin would’ve been named Liza or Barbra.”

Josh blanks for a few seconds before having to roll over to hide his face since he’s laughing. “Add an ‘n’ and it could be Ellen. What if she named it after another lesbian? That would be so great.”

“She’d never hear the end of it, man.”

  
  


Monday rolls around, and Josh mentally groans when  _ Jenna _ comes into his office, looking wary, as if she’s afraid of pissing him off. “Please don’t freak out when I tell you this.”  _ Yep, that’s not helping. Nothing good comes from ‘please don’t freak out.’ _

“Just tell me and quit dicking around with it, Jen.” Josh doesn’t react immediately to the  _ belly.  _ He wants to, but he figures it’s something important if she took the time out of her day to show up at his work place.

“Johnson Athletics terminated their contract with you. The fine has already been put into the company account.”

Josh sighs and scrubs his hand down his face. “Any reason why?”

“The lawyer representing them didn’t say, but their CEO has donated to a bunch of anti-gay stuff, so I’m just going to go out on a limb here and say it’s because you’re gay.” Jenna sighs, and places a manila folder on Josh’s desk, one containing some papers. “You don’t need to sign any, but I’d read over them if I were you.  _ Also,  _ one more thing.” She pulls a manila envelope out of her briefcase this time. “Innox is filing a suit, since you’ve been stealing their clients and undercutting them.”

“Oh, that’s just fucking lovely,” Josh remarks as he throws his pen down on the desk.

“Did you ever get around to signing the non-competition clause?”

“Nope. I was fired a week or two after I got it anyways.”

“Alright, then I think you’ll be fine. You never signed it, so there’s nothing preventing you from, y’know, stealing their clients, and they don’t have a right to file a suit. I have a few buddies in some… good places, so I’m going to look into getting it thrown out. Anyways, can I sit down for a minute or two? I’ve been on my feet all day.”

“The chairs are there for a reason.”

Jenna gives Josh a slightly dirty look before sitting.

While Josh is typing on his computer, an email to a colleague of his, he basically mumbles out, “How are you doing? On a personal level.”

“Tired and my feet are always swollen no matter what I do.” She tilts her head back and groans. “These two better hurry up. I want my body back ASAP.”

“Me and my one ball apologize for the swollen feet and the extra forty pounds.”

“Excuse you! Thirty pounds.”

“Tyler’s been flipping me shit since I’m apparently a little chubby,” Josh mutters, breaking eye contact to look at his monitor.

“You’re a big guy, Josh. Anyways, you were real sick for a while. You looked like a skeleton. I think you’re entitled to be a little chubby.”

“No need to defend me. He wasn’t being serious. Anyways, he’s a gangly little fuck. Not like he’s one to talk about bodies. Also, I wanted to tell you that I’m on your side with the Eleanor thing. Tyler told me about it. Elle sounds sort of dumb anyways.”

“See! Eleanor isn’t stupid! It’s a good name. What’d you think about the other one?”

“Think it’s cute that you’re naming my second son after my middle name.”

“Figured you’d like it,” She says with a mischievous little smile. “Deb teased me for a week when I told her about it.”

“I still want to know where she got Nathan from.”

“Six Feet Under.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? She named my  _ son  _ after Nathan  _ Fisher?  _ She does  _ that,  _ and then gives you shit for Eleanor.”

“She didn’t tell me about it until Nate was two.”

“You should name the twins David and Brenda to get back at her. Or Claire. Claire would work better, since they’d all be named after Fishers.”

“Brenda married Nathan, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but they’d all be named after siblings too.”

“Damn it, Josh—quit giving me ideas. Deb’s going to kill you if I actually do this.”

“Are you actually considering it?” Josh grins and can’t help the laugh.

“I am. I’m really considering it.”

“Personally, I think you should do it. Though, I’m the kind of person who agreed to be your guys’ sperm donor in the first place just to spite Brendon.”

“Really? To spite Brendon?”

“He told me not to, and it rubbed me the wrong way, so I did it just to be like, “Fuck you, man, you don’t control me.” He copped an attitude with me for a few months after that, I swear.”

“He always did have a tendency to cop an attitude with you. Hell, he still does.”

“Hasn’t talk to me more than necessary since January. He’s a child.” Josh mutters the last sentence.

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“No, because I don’t want to. It’s always awkward and we always end up getting into it whenever we do talk, usually.”

“The two of you don’t even know how to be friends anymore. Personally, I think he was so used to you being a dickhead that he always just… acts hostile whenever the two of you do talk because he’s expecting you to snap at him or something.”

“He acts like I’m the antichrist sometimes. I’m just a person, y’know? Also, I’m so over the Brendon drama that it isn’t even funny, but he keeps perpetuating it.” Josh shakes his head as he starts responding to another email. “Tyler told me he’s been seeing a counselor for anger issues apparently, but I dunno.”

“At least he tries.”

“I see a therapist once a  _ week.  _ Don’t even start that bullshit.”

“Not trying to pick a fight, but where do you get off on saying he has anger issues? You’re not one to talk.”

“I don’t have anger issues like he does. I’m working on mine, and I’m making progress, like a lot of progress, but mines mostly related to anxiety. One of the symptoms of anxiety is random bursts of anger or irritation. It’s like clockwork. Something happens, I react with anger, work myself up, then  _ bam,  _ ugly crying Josh makes an appearance if I don’t catch it in time.”

“What do you do if you  _ do  _ catch it?” Jenna asks curiously. Josh has to laugh at what a lawyer she is. She’s curious, nosy, and always asks specific questions. He knows it’s a lawyer thing. It has to be.

“I have a prescription that I take that prevents, like, panic attacks if I take it in time. Basically it just regulates my heartbeat, and makes it almost physically impossible to at least have any physical symptoms. Either that, or I talk to Tyler if possible.” Josh shrugs, suddenly bashful, and he catches the smirk Jenna gives him before he looks away from her.

“How does he even help?”

“Have you  _ met  _ Tyler? He’s literally an angel.”

“He’s kind of a smart ass, honestly.”

“Well, yeah, but he’s just… He’s really good at talking to me.” After Josh places his chin on his hand, he makes a slightly wistful expression. “God, I love him. He’s awesome.”

“Stop that. It’s too much too soon to see you being all lovey. It’s so weird.”

“Like I said, I’m a person. A person with feelings, contrary to popular belief.”

“Alright, alright. Anyway, I need to leave. Have other stuff to do.”

“Do you need help or anything…?” Josh gestures towards her stomach.

“I’m fine. Debby’s here anyways. She’s been hovering like flies around a corpse.”


	28. another trans au that had potential and alsl lots of smut??

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i might finish this at some point but rn it seems unlikely lol

Tylers sitting on the fire escape of an apartment complex, wanting to get away from the noise of a party, smoking a cigarette and sipping at a Solo cup of rum and coke when he hears the door opening. He turns around enough to get a look, and he sees this  _ guy.  _ From the second he laid eyes on this guy, he knew he was going to be trouble.

Tyler’s the angst ridden and self destructive type, and his weakness just so happens to be tall guys who are handsome and who have cool hair. This guy’s fashion sense doesn’t hurt either. He looks like he’s in a bad mood, and Tyler can hear it in his voice when he sits down, asking, “Can I bum a smoke?”

Tyler pulls his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, flips the top, and holds it towards the guy. He takes one, and Tyler lights it for him, saying, “No problem,” when the guy thanks him. “Shitty night?”

“Not really. Just bored.” The guy huffs, and flicks ashes onto the step in front of either of the men.

Tyler holds his cup out towards the guy. “Want a sip? It’s rum and coke.”

He takes the cup, mumbling, “I’m more of a scotch kind of guy,” as he takes a pretty big swig of the drink. He hands it back, and Tyler notices that his hands are, like… really hot. They look strong, and, alright, he’s sort of drunk and he’s sort of horny and he admits to himself that he’d  _ kill  _ to have the guy finger him. Tyler’s also something of a slut.

“Why’re you bored?”

“Haven’t gotten laid in a few months and there’s no one in there I’m, like, willing to sleep with.”

“Ah, yes. The pain of a dry spell. I feel you. I haven’t gotten laid in a good bit either. Did you come here to get laid?”

“Basically, yeah.” The guy is quiet for a few minutes. “What’s your name?”

“Tyler. What’s yours?”

“It’s Josh.” Tyler watches him stub the cigarette out and toss it over the railing of the stairs they’re on. “Well, Tyler… You’re kind of hot.”

“You’re bad at hitting on people, aren’t you?”

“I’m thinking with my dick right now, man.” Josh giggles a little bit, and Tyler leans over to nudge him. “How about it? Wanna fuck?”

“God, yes,” Tyler’s saying as he tosses his own cigarette butt off of the staircase, and as he sets his Solo cup somewhere nearby. The next thing he knows, Josh is leaning over, and kissing him deeply. Tyler returns the kiss, placing a hand on the side of Josh’s face.

When Tyler feels one of Josh’s hands traveling  _ down,  _ he grabs the man’s wrist, and pulls away just a bit, to let out a breathy, “Probably worth it to mention that I don’t have a dick.”

Josh pecks him on the lips. “I don’t care if you’re trans. That shit doesn’t matter to me. I can, like, touch you, right?”

Tyler nods and pulls Josh back into a kiss, letting go of his wrist. He lets out a little breath when he feels Josh palming him through his jeans, and he’s shameless about rolling his hips into Josh’s hand. Tyler does find himself whining when Josh is pulling away, but he finds himself internally saying, “Fuck yes,” when Josh is saying, “Let’s go find somewhere that’s, like… not a fire escape.”

 

They end up at Josh’s apartment. If Tyler were to tell this story to, like, someone he didn’t completely trust, he’d say that he shared a glass of something not alcoholic with Josh, and had an extensive conversation regarding their sexual past, but, in reality, they spend less than a minute or two  _ outside  _ of the bedroom.

Josh slows things down just a bit once they’re in his bedroom. He detaches himself from Tyler, and takes a minute to get a condom and a packet of lube out of a box in his dresser, and he dims the lights in his room, mumbling something about not wanting it to seem like the second coming of Christ while they’re fucking.

After that, though, his lips are back on Tyler’s, and Tyler finds himself being backed against Josh’s bed, finally sitting once the back of his knees hit the mattress. He gets a tad bit nervous when Josh is taking his shirt off and he finds himself quickly mumbling out, “Um, I haven’t--I haven’t had, like, any surgeries. I mean, I take hormones but, uh--”

“It’s cool if you don’t want to take your shirt off, man.”

“I actually  _ do  _ want to, and, like, god, I’m probably the worst one night stand. I’m nervous. Sort of.”

“Tyler, you’re cool. My last girlfriend was a trans girl and my best friend is trans. Like, I get it. I mean, not completely, since I’m cis, but you get my point, right? Do whatever you’re comfortable with.” Josh smiles at Tyler and bends down to kiss him on the lips for a quick second, trying to be reassuring.

Things slow down even more while Tyler’s taking his clothes off, save for his underwear, and save for his chest binder, which gets stuck half way. Tyler’s face is burning when he’s sheepishly asking, “Can you help me with this?”

Josh doesn’t say anything, but he grabs part of the binder, and pulls it off of Tyler no problem.

“Sorry. I’m not used to, like, actually getting naked in front of other people. I am used to quickies in bathrooms, though.”

“I kind of just enjoy the skin on skin contact,” he says with a grunt as he’s getting onto his bed. “C’mere.” Josh motions for Tyler to sit in his lap. Tyler scoots towards Josh on his knees, and straddles the man’s thighs. He tentatively places his slender hands on Josh’s chest, melting at how  _ firm  _ it is.

“So, are we gonna, like… get to it, then?”

“Can we take it slow? Something about you makes me want this to  _ not  _ be some quick fuck.”

“Um, yeah, that’s actually totally awesome.” Tyler lets out a breath, wondering why the hell he’s so nervous about this, since Josh  _ should  _ just be some schmuck that he’s going to fuck. He kisses Josh again, and it’s not a hungry or quick kiss like before. It’s slow, it’s deep, and Josh’s hands are all over his body. The man skirts past his breasts, not paying any attention to them, until Tyler has to pull away,  _ again,  _ and say, “You’re allowed to touch them, y’know.”

“Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” is all Josh says before leading Tyler into another kiss.  _ This time  _ he brushes a thumb over one of Tyler’s nipples, trying his best not to smirk at the way the man in his lap inhales sharply. He takes it a step further, and pinches one of them. Not enough to hurt, of course, but enough to where Tyler makes a noise.

Eventually Josh is the one making a move as he moves to where Tyler’s on his back, and he takes another minute to slow down and talk. “I wanna go down on you. Can I do that?”

“Of course you can. I haven’t gotten head in  _ ages.” _

Josh chuckles, and Tyler’s half expecting him to just go straight for his underwear, but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s trailing kisses, nips, and licks down Tyler’s body, even taking the time to suck hickeys into his collar bones and the top part of his breasts. He even takes  _ more  _ time to pay extra attention to Tyler’s nipples, trying not to giggle at how  _ worked up  _ it gets him.

Eventually, Josh has reached the waistband of Tyler’s  briefs, and he glances up, silently asking for permission, and when he gets a nod, he’s sitting up and hooking a few fingers into the waistband, pulling them off. “Hey, before I do anything, am I allowed to use fingers?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” Tyler drawls dryly as he’s spreading his legs, waiting for Josh to hop to. Josh doesn’t take too long before he’s grabbing the packet of lube, just to have it nearby just in case. Tyler finds himself letting out a low moan when he feels Josh licking over his clit, then sucking on it slightly. It’s been awhile since someone’s gone down on him.

Tyler lets out an embarrassingly high pitched noise when Josh is slipping two lube slicked fingers into him. His suspicions were correct. Being fingered by Josh is a fucking dream. Josh goes slow at first, gently thrusting his fingers, but then Tyler’s grabbing at his hair, since he doesn’t know what else to grab, almost politely asking for  _ faster. _

Josh can do faster. He adjusts his position a little bit, still licking and sucking on Tyler’s clit, but also starting to fuck Tyler with his fingers at a relentless pace. Tyler lets himself be loud for once, moaning and squirming just a bit, mostly since he doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on in his life. He even takes himself by surprise when he’s feeling around with his left hand, until he finds the condom. He gets Josh’s attention, and holds the condom towards him. “Please. I’m, like, really close to cumming. I don’t wanna cum before we get to the good part.”

“Gotcha.” Josh sits up, gently removing his fingers from Tyler, and he takes a minute to catch his breath before he’s sliding his own briefs off.

“Oh, holy fucking shit you’re hung.”

“Uh… is that… is that a problem…?”

“No, god no. I’m such a fucking size queen. Do you even  _ know  _ how bad I want you right now?”

Josh snorts and grins a bit. “You’re cute,” he’s saying as he’s tearing the condom packet open. He drizzles the rest of the lube onto his cock once the condom is on, and Tyler practically  _ begs  _ him to start fucking him.

Tyler’s so responsive and Josh has, honestly, never seen anything like him. He’s mumbling out mostly nonsense as Josh is bottoming out, saying stuff along the lines of, “Oh my god, you’re so big,  _ fuck--I already love this.”  _

Josh takes a few seconds to gather himself after  _ he  _ says, “You’re, like, really tight. Fuck.”

Tyler huffs and grabs Josh by his hair to pull him down and into a rough kiss, just as he starts slowly thrusting. He keeps his thrusts slow, purposefully teasing Tyler, rubbing his clit with his thumb. Eventually, though, Josh can’t take the slow pace any more, so he speeds his thrusts up, relishing in the way Tyler starts digging his nails into his back, and even going so far as to let out a moan or two here and there at the way Tyler’s nails scratch his back up once his pace is relentless.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with the sound of Josh’s headboard hitting the wall. Tyler’s letting out loud, high pitched, wanton moans, and Josh is letting out a few of his own, although quieter.

When Tyler cums, the feeling of clenching muscles drives Josh over the edge, causing him to spill into the condom. They ride their orgasms out together, and after Josh ties his condom off and throws it into the waste bin next to his bed, he flops onto his back, and lets Tyler tuck himself into his side.

“I think that was the best fuck I’ve ever had. Holy fucking shit, Josh.”

“I’m going to agree,” Josh says, breathily. He’s still catching his breath.

 

Tyler wakes up before Josh does, and he’s a little hungover, so he’s quiet about getting out of the bed, finding his underwear, then grabbing a shirt, not noticing it was Josh’s until he’s standing in a kitchen he doesn’t recognize. He quietly opens cabinets until he finds where Josh keeps his cups, and he keeps the faucet running gently as he fills it up with tap water. He sees a bottle of ibuprofen, so he takes four, and while he’s standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping his glass of water and trying to wake up, he hears a voice he doesn’t recognize asking, “Who the  _ fuck  _ are you?”

_ Oh my god. I’m not even wearing my fucking binder, and this  _ guy  _ is just… here.  _ “I’m Tyler, the hungover one night stand,” he introduces himself, smoothly, praying that his confident demeanor disguises the fact that he is not wearing his binder.

“I’m Brendon, the best friend who has no concept of boundaries.” The guy, Brendon, shakes Tyler’s hand.

“I’m, uh, probably going to leave soon. Need to get back home. Figured I’d cop some ibuprofen before I left, though. Did you know he’s, like, a super heavy sleeper? I’m totally jealous.”

“I’ve been his best friend since grade school,” Brendon’s mumbling as he goes through Josh’s fridge. Tyler just watches him, curiously. He’s sort of uncomfortable, but not  _ that  _ uncomfortable. It’s still uncomfortable enough to where he’s probably going to leave within the next hour, but still.

“Cool. I’ve known him for roughly twelve hours. We shared a few cigarettes, then he invited me back to his place. Totally a deep relationship.”

“I think you’re the first one night stand of his that I actually sort of like. You’re funny.”

“I’m flattered.”

 

Josh wakes up in an empty bed, and he figures Tyler went home, and doesn’t notice the man’s clothes still on the floor as he’s sleepily walking from his bedroom to the kitchen. He hears talking, which confuses him until he sees  _ fucking Brendon  _ talking to Tyler, who’s sitting on the counter while the aforementioned best friend is cooking something on the stove.

“Brendon,  _ why are you always here?”  _

“My roommate is  _ entertaining  _ and my fridge is empty,” he answers, simply, before shrugging. “I’m making enough for all of us.”

“I was gonna leave, but, like… He’s cool.”

“Josh, I like him. Can we keep him?”

“That… is up to Tyler. What are you making?” Josh asks the last part as he’s stepping towards his fridge to grab the carton of orange juice so he can pour himself a glass.

“Breakfast food.”

“Is it rice? All you fucking eat is rice.” Josh yawns, and tries to be subtle about standing next to where Tyler’s sitting on his counter.

“Well, you’re, like, a foot taller than me, Josh. You could just look into the pan.”

“I’m hungover and tired. I am basically crippled.”

Tyler snorts, and mumbles out, “Same.”

“I’m making eggs, bacon, and I’m going to try my best to make pancakes out of bananas and whatever other shit I can find in here, since someone apparently doesn’t keep pancake mix around.”

“I make them homemade. I fucking hate pancake mixes.” Josh yawns once more, and he’s intentionally obvious when he lowers his voice as he gives Tyler a grave look, saying, “Half the reason I’m okay with him just showing up is because he cooks me breakfast.”

“Oh, shut up, you dick.” Josh gets a dirty look. It holds no water, of course.

Tyler laughs a little bit. “Your best friend is cool. Mine just shows up whenever he’s hungover to sleep on my couch.”

“Don’t get me wrong--Brendon does the  _ exact  _ same shit to me. He just also occasionally makes breakfast for me.”

“Since I’m making you guys breakfast, I reserve the right to complain about my life, right?”

“Me saying ‘no’ wouldn’t stop you.”

“True. Anyways, I had to go out for dinner with my mom and my dad, right? Like, Mother’s Day and all that shit. My dad fucking humiliated me right in the center of a restaurant by busting out the dead name and using the wrong pronouns  _ constantly.  _ Like,  _ what the fuck?” _

“Kill him.”

“I’m not killing my dad, Josh.”

“Your dad sounds like an asshole,” Tyler mumbles before taking a sip of his water.

“You right, though. Listen, I’m just glad Pete wasn’t there, because he probably would’ve socked him in the jaw. He’s so defensive.”

“He’s a good friend, though.”

“He is when he doesn’t wake me up at six in the morning to fuck his girlfriend.”

“Good point. Is he still with Ashlee?”

“I think so? It sounded like her, so I dunno. I fucking hate her though. She’s, like… she’s nice, but she just bugs me.” Brendon, by now, is placing food onto three plates, and he’s saying ‘fuck the pancakes’ as he places the pan in the sink, running water into it. 

“She’s kind of… fake.”

Tyler doesn’t speak in the conversation, but rather listens. He’s a slut for drama and gossip.

“Dude, I wish he was still with, like, Patrick, or even Mikey. Mikey was fucking cool, even if he was a nerd.” Brendon shakes his head, and Josh and Tyler follow him to Josh’s dining table, plates in hand. Brendon continues talking once they’re all sitting and eating. “I liked Patrick better, since they worked better with each other, but I can’t control his relationships.”

“I liked it when he was with Meagan. For one thing, she didn’t look like some emo college dropout, and for another, she was super nice and pretty.”

“I don’t know who this Pete guy is, but he sounds like he gets around.”

The two men at the table give Tyler  _ looks.  _ Like, the kind of looks that tell him that he’s right.

“We call him a serial monogamist. Whenever he’s not in a relationship, he fucks someone like, every other day. I mean, I’m a bit of a manwhore myself, but I at least keep it to once a week or so whenever I’m able to find people to fuck.”

 

Brendon ends up leaving for work, and Josh ends up between Tyler’s legs again, and Tyler has to admit--getting eaten out by this man, sober, is so much better than getting eaten out while drunk. Tyler ends up blowing him on the couch, and after managing to get his number, he gets dressed and leaves, mostly since he, himself, has work.

 

After work, Tyler ends up at Mark’s apartment.

As the aforementioned man opens his apartment door, he’s saying, “Hey, what happened last night? You weren’t answering any texts.”

“My phone died, and I was getting laid anyways.”

“Ooh, spill the tea, boy.” Mark lets Tyler in, and they end up in the living room, Tyler sprawled out on the couch, and Mark sitting in an armchair, waiting for Tyler to start talking.

“Okay, so, we made out a little bit, like, full on groping and tongue in mouth making out, then he brought me to his apartment, right? He lives in a  _ really  _ nice place, and he didn’t immediately want to get to it once we were in his room. He’s the first guy I’ve met in a while who was actually willing to go down on me. He was even excited about it. After that, he proceeded to fuck my brains out, then we passed out, and  _ then  _ his best friend showed up and made breakfast. it was fucking great.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

Tyler rolls his eyes and tosses a balled up piece of paper at his friend. “Shut the fuck up, dick.”

 

Josh finds himself sending Tyler a text message a week after meeting him. (And after sleeping with him.) Josh is a pretty straightforward guy, and he doesn’t beat around the bush when he sends a message saying,  _ “Wanna come over and have more sex?” _

Tyler responds within an hour, saying,  _ “Sure. Got any special requests?”  _ followed by,  _ “I’m kidding, by the way.” _

The message causes Josh to chuckle before sending Tyler his address, and within an hour, Tyler’s there.

“Hey, um, before we, like, do anything, can I ask if you’re gay or straight or something else?”

“I’m bi with a preference for men.”

“Okay, cool. That’s cool. Anyways--is there any reason you asked me to come over at five in the evening on a Thursday?” Tyler raises his eyebrows as he follows Josh to his bedroom.

“Had a shitty day and I kinda just… wanna blow off steam.”

“And sex with me is your way of doing that?” Tyler isn’t being condescending, but rather trying to make conversation. Sex is always better if you know the person, even if it’s just a little bit.

“Sex in general. You’re just the only person whose number I actually bothered to get. I also think you’re kind of cool and really hot.”

Tyler huffs a bit as he takes his jacket off and kicks his shoes off. “Flattery is a good way to get into my pants, man.”

When Tyler starts taking his shirt off, Josh stops him by gently grabbing his wrists. “Not yet.”

“Can I at least take my binder off? It’ll save time in the long run, and I’d also like to breathe properly. I’ll put my shirt back on.” 

“Yeah, of course. I was just--I’m a romantic guy, and I like slow sex more than I like rough and quick sex. I mean, I like to actually take my time and enjoy it.”

“I think I told you, but I’m more or less just used to getting right to it rather than going through all the foreplay stuff and whatnot. I mean, I prefer the slow stuff, because, I’ll be real--I have never came as hard as I did last week.”

Josh snorts and cackles a bit. “I fucking feel that. Quick, gentle orgasms fucking suck. Like, if busting my nut doesn’t feel like someone’s ripping my soul out of my body, then it ain’t worth it.”

“I think you need to call an exorcist, bro. That sounds like some straight up satanist bullshit.”

Josh laughs again. “You’re right.”

Tyler shakes his head and smiles a little bit as he peels his shirt off. His chest binder ends up stuck half way again, and Josh is more than happy to help him get it off. Tyler’s quick about grabbing his t-shirt again, and slipping it back on. “So, uh, am I allowed to ask you a bunch of questions…?”

“Yeah, of course.” Josh is on his bed, leaned back against the headboard. “We don’t have to, like, really even do  _ anything  _ if you don’t want.”

“You told me to come over for sex, dude.”

“And I’m saying we can just hang out for while if you want. I’m adamant on my sexual partners feeling comfortable and safe. You, uh, you can sit if you want.” Josh motions around his bed, and Tyler takes to sitting on one of the corners with one leg tucked under him, and one pulled against his chest.

“Most of my questions have to do with sex and me being trans, by the way. Is that alright?”

Josh nods. Tyler realizes that he’s, like, super nice. He can tell Josh is being genuine, just from the look on his face, and his body language.

“I’m serious--how are you just--how are you okay with me being trans, and having sex? Like, it blows my mind. I’ve never met a cis guy who was just--who was totally okay with it. Like, a  _ lot  _ of the guys I’ve been with like to objectify me, and use me as an excuse to  _ not  _ be gay, like, thinking of me as a boy with a pussy, and that having sex with, like, that part even though I’m a dude means they can be with a guy but also be straight. That was a mess, but do you get what I’m saying?”

Josh nods again. “Yeah, totally. I know what you mean. Uh, you met Brendon last time you were here. You remember him, right? Short, mouthy, likes to show up and cook breakfast for himself while I’m asleep?”

“I remember him, yeah. He’s cool. I like him. Is he the trans best friend you were talking about?”

“Yep. He came out when we were, like, twenty, and at that point in time I was like… I wasn’t particularly against that stuff or however you phrase it, but I wasn’t for it either, because I didn’t understand it. Anyways, him coming out and transitioning and all of that was kind of a learning experience for me too, because we’re best friends, and I’m the kind of person that if we’re friends and we have a bond or what the fuck ever, then you ain’t ever getting rid of me. My love for people is unconditional. I--I told you one of my girlfriends was trans, right? Being with her for a few years was also a learning experience. I know that I don’t completely understand it since I’m not trans, but that stuff doesn’t bug me. Like, I don’t care. I mean, okay, I do, but not in a bad way. It’s more like I just want people to feel comfortable and all of that shit. Also, when it comes to my sexuality, gender and what people have between their legs doesn’t really come into the equation. I mean, I tend to gravitate towards people I deem masculine; you, for example; but in the long run that shit doesn’t matter.”

“You’re, like… really cool, Josh. Holy shit.”

“I try my best.”

“I don’t know what to talk about anymore. You literally answered all of my questions.” Tyler spends a few minutes trying to think of something else before thinking to ask, “How old are you?”

“Twenty seven. How about you?”

“I turned twenty in December. Am I too young?”

“Nah. Twenty is my cut-off age for dating. Not that we’re dating.”

“Friends with benefits? For now, at least?”

“Sounds good, man.” Josh lets out a huff of laughter. “Do you got a cut-off age?”

“Eighteen and twenty five, usually. I’ll make an exception for you. What’s your cut off age for when people are older than you?”

“Thirty four. I kind of was dating one of my friends who was thirty at the time, so that’s why it’s my cut off age.” Josh puffs his cheeks out.

“Thirty sounds old.”

“Of course. I flipped him shit all the time about it. We’re still friends, actually. I mean, we kind of have to be, since he’s been with Brendon for the past four years. Seven years either way for me. You?”

“I’d say five years either way for me, but there’s no fucking way I’d be dating a fifteen year old. It’s super illegal for one thing, and, like, fifteen year olds are fuckin’ stupid. Okay, not stupid, but they’re immature. Also it’d be creepy. When I’m twenty three, that’ll be the deal.”

Josh nods, and they sit in a comfortable silence for a while. Eventually, Tyler’s crawling over to sit in Josh’s lap, and to kiss him on the lips, gently. Tyler realizes that Sober Josh is way better at kissing than Drunk Josh, and Drunk Josh was already pretty damn good.

Tyler keeps his arms thrown over Josh’s shoulders, even if he has to bend them in an awkward position, given Josh is leaning against his headboard. Josh keeps his hands on either Tyler’s hips, his ass, or his thighs the whole time they’re making out. Tyler giggles a little bit whenever Josh’s hands are on his ass, and Josh grins into the kiss at Tyler’s soft giggles.

Tyler’s a little hesitant when he’s tugging on the hem of Josh’s shirt, and he only pulls it off of the older man when he’s lifting his arms up. “I didn’t know you had so many freckles.”

“I hate them.”

“I love them. I think they’re cute.” Tyler kisses each of Josh’s shoulders, where the freckles are more prominent. “I’ve always had a thing for freckles, honestly. Probably because I don’t have a whole bunch.”

“Well, thanks. That sounds a little passive aggressive, but it’s not.”

Tyler huffs and pecks Josh on the lips. He would’ve kissed him longer, but he feels hands slipping under his shirt. He grabs Josh’s wrists. “Um, can I, like… keep my shirt on a little longer…?”

“Of course. You don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to, sweetheart.” Josh leads Tyler into a sickly sweet and slow kiss, and Tyler almost physically swoons. He’s blushing, a lot, mostly since he’s never been called sweetheart before, at least not since he started transitioning. No one ever thinks to call a guy ‘sweetheart,’ and Tyler gets peeved by it. It’s his favorite thing to be called pet names.

Tyler scoots forward on Josh’s lap a little bit, and tries his best not to be that obvious as he grinds down, seeking at least a little friction. Josh is already hard, and Tyler’s sort of eating it up. “If I come in my pants, I’m blaming you,” Josh mumbles without really even pulling away.

“If you come in your pants, I’m probably going to laugh at you, then try my best to tease you and get you hard again, because I ain’t leaving here until I get some dick.”

Josh snorts, and instead of kissing Tyler on the lips, he presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw, and, to Tyler, the feeling of Josh’s hands on his hips is suddenly way more obvious and intense to him. He likes the feeling. He sits there on Josh’s lap, with the man’s boner hard and just  _ there,  _ pressed against exactly where Tyler  _ wants  _ it, slack jawed, and trying his best not to make any embarrassing noises at the way Josh is sucking even more hickeys into his neck. The ones from last week haven’t even completely faded yet.

When Josh reaches the space in between Tyler’s shoulder and his neck, the younger of the two is gently nudging him, breathily saying, “You can take my shirt off now,” in a sudden stroke of confidence. Josh is so  _ gentle  _ and almost polite about taking Tyler’s shirt off. He does stare a little bit, and Tyler nudges him again. “Quit staring at them unless you’re going to give me feedback or play with my nipples.”

“I think they’re cute,” Josh comments quietly. “Can I touch, or nah?”

“You can touch.” Aaand Josh does, almost immediately. He cups either one of Tyler’s breasts in either of his hands, and Tyler starts rambling a little bit, mostly out of nervousness. “They look weird. They’re all saggy and kinda… not attractive.”

“I’m not expecting you to have supermodel tits, dude. Don’t chest binders basically ruin the tissue? I think Brendon told me about that happening before he got top surgery.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s a thing. I’ve been wearing them since I was a freshman in highschool, so I dunno. I don’t… I don’t really want any surgery, but I feel bad for whoever gets a glimpse, because they’re so… weird.”

“Like I said--I think they’re cute.

“Sorry for being so chatty. I tend to run my mouth when I’m nervous.”

“You’re not uncomfortable, are you?”

“Not really, no. I just find it weird that we don’t really even know each other, yet I’m almost completely comfortable right now. I’d, uh, say something if I was uncomfortable or not okay with stuff. I’m pretty alright when it comes to, like, sex and whatnot. Usually.”

“That’s good.” Josh offers Tyler a kind smile before he leans forward a little bit to lick over one of Tyler’s nipples. He takes it between his teeth for a few seconds, and then he’s sucking a few hickeys into the soft flesh of Tyler’s breast. He leaves them all over Tyler’s chest, mostly since every time he does, the boy in his lap makes the cutest little noises, and Josh eats it up.

Josh lets himself be pulled into another kiss, one that he ends up moaning into as Tyler grinds down  _ hard  _ onto his dick. Tyler himself is pretty much purring, because Josh’s hands are all over him, touching places that he didn’t even think would turn him on so much.  _ God, Josh is so attentive. _

Josh goes to roll Tyler onto his back, but he gets stopped by Tyler saying, y’know, “Stop. I don’t want to be on my back this time.”

Josh nods and runs one of his hands through Tyler’s hair as a gesture of affection, probably. Tyler isn’t sure, but he leans into it anyways. “I kinda wanted to go down on you, though.” Josh’s tone shows that he isn’t being super serious, and that he isn’t trying to persuade Tyler into doing something he doesn’t want to do.

“Maybe next time, man. Though…” Tyler gets a sort of mischievous look on his face. “I could always, like, sit on your face.”

“You’re right. That’s always an option. How ‘bout it?”

Tyler crawls off of Josh’s lap for about thirty seconds to take his pants and his underwear off, and when he’s turning back towards Josh, the man is on his back, looking at Tyler expectantly. “Okay, uh, is this a good time to mention that, one, I’ve never actually done this before, and, two, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing?”

“You don’t really have to do anything, Tyler.” Tyler likes the way his name sounds on Josh’s tongue. “I’ve done this before, and I’d even go so far as to say that I’m not half bad. You just gotta sit and let me do all the work.”

Tyler goes a little red, which really should  _ not  _ be possible at this point, before he’s scooting back across the bed, and letting Josh tug him into the right position. Tyler’s sitting up on his knees, hovering about five inches above Josh’s face, quietly asking, “What do I do?”

Josh places his hands on Tyler’s thighs, not moving him in the slightest, but rather trying to be somewhat reassuring, in some weird way. “Like I said, you just gotta sit, babe. That’s literally all you have to do.”

“Okay, uh, what do I do with my hands?”

“Headboard or my hair or… I don’t know. It’s up to you.”

Tyler nods, takes a bit of a deep breath, and then he’s gently lowering himself until he can feel the way Josh’s tongue feels as he licks over Tyler’s clit. Tyler gasps a little bit, and it doesn’t take too long before he’s really into it. He’s not holding back his moans, and he’s rolling his hips down onto Josh’s face, seeking friction and the  _ heat  _ of his mouth. Tyler does figure out what to do with his hands, and ends up with one clutching the headboard, and the other firmly grasping Josh’s hair, tugging on it once in awhile since each time he does, Josh moans in a fashion similar to a whore. Not that Tyler thinks he’s a whore, of course.

Tyler hits a point to where he’s about to cum, so he climbs off of Josh, saying, “Similar to last time, I don’t want to bust that  _ sweet nut  _ before we get to the good part.” He glances down at Josh, and has to puff his cheeks out to keep from making some sort of  _ noise  _ at the way his cheeks are flushed, the way he’s breathing as if he’s catching his breath (he is), the way his lips and general mouth area are red and glistening, and, alright--Tyler makes a vow to do this as much as possible, given that this isn’t just a one (or two) time thing.

Josh grins and laughs a little bit at the way Tyler phrases things. “I got condoms and lube under the edge of the bed on the side you’re on. Would you mind handing me a condom and, y’know, lube? Please?”

Tyler obeys the request, but not before he bends down to steal a quick kiss. He figures he’s probably being a little too affectionate with some guy he’s only known for a week, but he can’t bring himself to give a shit, at least not now.

Josh takes the condom and the bottle of lube from Tyler, thanking him, and then he’s unbuckling his belt, then lifting his hips up so he can pull his pants and underwear off in one go. Tyler gets one look at Josh’s dick before he’s saying, “I forgot how big your dick was. Jeez, go me for just…  _ taking  _ that last time.”

Josh scrunches his face up and full on laughs. “Quit making me laugh. You’re ruining the moment.”

“I can’t help it, man,” Tyler’s retorting with his own bout of laughter, gently getting Josh in the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Anyways, sit up.” 

Josh listens to him after he’s rolled the condom onto himself. Tyler’s the one who takes the bottle of lube to lather it onto the man’s cock, and taking a few seconds to slick up a few of his fingers to slip into himself,  _ just in case.  _ Tyler’s a little surprised and how easy it is to just sink down onto Josh’s cock, no problem. Tyler rolls his hips just a bit, and groans a little bit when Josh’s hands are flying right to his hips.

They kiss and take their time and it’s just so  _ gentle.  _ Tyler ends up with his face pressed into the space between Josh’s neck and shoulder, biting a little bit, and moaning softly as Josh fucks up into him. He’s not going fast, but he’s not going overly slow either. It’s enough to drive Tyler crazy, though. Josh asks, “Are you still doing okay?” at some point, and Tyler appreciates it more than he’d like to admit.

He nods, mumbling out a quiet and meek little, “Yeah,” followed by, “Feels so fucking good. God.” 

After that, Josh gives in and starts thrusting his hips up faster, and Tyler’s meeting him halfway, and, alright, Tyler definitely gets what Josh meant when he said something about feeling like his soul was being ripped out of his body after cumming, especially after he, himself, cums untouched. Josh fucks him through it, and even continues fucking him for a few more minutes before he’s spilling into his condom.

Tyler pretty much lays on top of Josh for at least five minutes, trying to gather himself, and only ends up climbing off of the man after Josh says something about wanting to throw the condom away. Before getting comfortable on Josh’s bed, Tyler asks, “Am I spending the night?”

“You don’t have to, but I wouldn’t mind making breakfast for you in the morning.”

 

Tyler wakes up after Josh does to the harsh, shrill, ringing sound of the fire alarm in his apartment, and possibly the entire complex. Tyler’s quick to get up and put on underwear and whichever t-shirt was closest as he leaves the room to see what the hell’s going on.

He finds Josh standing in his kitchen, staring dejectedly at his stove with a fire extinguisher in one of his hands. He’s shirtless, too, and if Tyler wasn’t startled, he’d make some dry, subtle comment about it. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I was attempting to make pancakes. It, uh, it didn’t work out.” Josh steps back, and shows Tyler the contents of the pan. It looks like someone put a fucking  _ hockey puck  _ into the pan, and Tyler starts laughing.

“Grab a broom or something and start waving it around. I’ll open windows.” Tyler climbs onto the counter to open the window that’s behind the sink, and he doesn’t waste any time as he trots towards the front of the apartment to open the window next to the door. (Josh’s apartment is more like a condo, at least in Tyler’s opinion, but he doesn’t question it.)

Once the fire alarm is off, and Josh has the broom put back into the broom closet, he takes a moment to take in Tyler’s appearance. His hair is sticking up on one side from how he slept, he looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days, and although he thinks it’s weird that he finds the following thing cute, he’s sort of digging the way the legs of Tyler’s underwear digs into his thighs.  _ Man, I fucking love his thighs. That’s some good shit right there. _

“Is that my shirt?”

Tyler yawns before he looks down. “Probably. I don’t know. I just grabbed a shirt, because I didn’t want to run in here with my tits out. Do you want me to take it off or something?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you took it off, but you can wear it if you want. It suits you.”

“Your shirt goes down to my thighs. It’s ridiculous.”

Josh huffs a bit. “So, since I can’t cook for shit, apparently, do you want to shower then possibly go to, like, Denny’s or Ihop or something?”

“Dutch Bros, then, uh… I hate Denny’s and Ihop. This is hard.”

“The only other thing I’m in the mood for is Japanese food.”

“What kind of stuff do they even serve at Japanese restaurants?” Tyler asks as he starts heading towards Josh’s bedroom again, assuming the man is just going to follow him. (He does, of course.)

“Lots of stuff. I, personally, like to get tempura, curry, and rice, all separate, and I have a very delicate process while eating said food. I use the curry to dip the tempura in, then I mix whatever is leftover with the rice, and it’s a method that hasn’t failed me so far.”

“I like curry, and I like tempura. That sounds fucking great, man. Uh… As for showering, like… Am I allowed to just… y’know, shower?”

“You take your clothes off, you get into the shower, turn the water on, then you, like, clean yourself. It’s not rocket science.”

Tyler throws his own balled up t-shirt at Josh. “Smart ass.”

Josh gives him a shit eating grin.

 

Tyler hasn’t really spent any time with Josh outside of sex, because, hey, they’ve known each other for a little over a week, and they’ve already fucked twice. (Or three times, if you count the oral indiscretion that went down on Josh’s couch the day after their first encounter.) Tyler learns that he definitely likes Josh outside of sex, or situations where sex is imminent. 

Josh is funny, he’s charming, he’s handsome, and he’s just so  _ nice.  _ Tyler figures that there  _ has  _ to be a catch, and he ends up running his mouth while they’re sat in Josh’s car, eating. “What’s your deal? You’re super nice, you’re a fucking  _ great  _ lay, you’re attractive, you’re obviously intelligent, and I’m assuming you have an alright job since your apartment isn’t some rundown shithole like mine. There has to be something.”

“I trust people too easily and I have a tendency to let people take advantage of me because I’m afraid of being rude, and as a result of that, I close myself off emotionally, or I at least attempt to, and I use sex, alcohol, and weed to cope with my problems. I’m honestly surprised at how many relationships I’ve been in. How about you? What’s your deal? You’re funny, you’re nice, you’re also pretty great in bed, you’re, like,  _ gorgeous,  _ and although I’m getting a misguided youth vibe from you, you seem really freaking chill, and like the kind of person I could hang out with regularly without getting annoyed.”

“Hm…” Tyler thinks for a moment, and he also uses that moment to take another bite of tempura dipped in curry. “I don’t know. I don’t have the best self esteem, so it’d probably be easier to list the things I actually like about myself, since it’d be a pretty short list. I’m also  _ really  _ self destructive, but I’m also, like, twelve, basically. I figure I’ll grow out of it.”

“I hope. Low self esteem sucks. Like, I’ve been there, and it just… Fucking sucks.”

“Eh, I deal. It could be worse, I guess.” Tyler shrugs.

Around a mouthful of food, Josh asks, “Do you wanna talk about kinks?” mostly to change the subject, since he doesn’t want to spend his day feeling sad.

“Sure. I have a daddy kink, and I’m pretty sure I’m a masochist. I’m also into bondage, and, like, I dunno. I’m basically the biggest sub.”

“I think if you called me daddy, I’d probably shoot my load right then and there. I haven’t even told Brendon about the daddy kink thing. Like… I dunno. People think it’s weird. I shouldn’t have brought this up, because I’m really fucking vanilla.”

“I feel ya, man. I’m into that stuff, but the one time I actually tried it, I ended up freaking out. Most of it was because I didn’t completely trust the person I was doing that stuff with, and because I was, like, seventeen, and I’d only been on hormones for a few months, so I was still super dysphoric. With sex in general, there has to be trust there, even if it’s just a one night stand. Part of why I really enjoy sleeping with you is because you actually take the time to ask me if I’m alright with stuff, and I don’t know if you realize how much I appreciate that.”

“I experimented with the bondage stuff a few times, and it didn’t, like, feel right. I’m kind of a soft and gentle person, usually, and I felt bad, and I was also afraid I was going to hurt the person I tried it with. I dunno. I like taking care of people, and I’m, like, super affectionate. I mean, I could’ve been affectionate when experimenting with that stuff, but the person didn’t want me to be affectionate. Also, I mean, I ruined the mood, because I kept asking, “Are you alright? I’m not hurting you, am I?” over and over.”

Tyler snorts. “That’s cute.  I’m pretty affectionate myself, but I always feel weird when I express affection. Like, my family is a really tight lipped family, and we don’t share a lot of things with each other, so I never learned how to express that stuff. I always get all flustered and choked up and awkward whenever I express affection.”

“I’m totally a really touchy-feely person. If it ever makes you uncomfortable, I can tone it down, I guess.”

“No, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind when people are affectionate with me. Like, touch my hair, and I’m basically yours. Cuddling is pretty great too. Post-sex cuddling is one of my favorite kinds of cuddling. I think after sex is when I’m most affectionate. Also, sorry for rambling. Fuck.” Tyler groans for a second, and adjusts his position.

“It’s cool, dude. I like listening to you talk. Also, cuddling is fucking great. I’ve been single for two years, man. Do you  _ know  _ how starved for affection I am?”

“Yes, I do. Like I said--I grew up in a household that wasn’t overly affectionate. The most affection I’ve gotten from my mother was her hugging me after I came out as trans. I mean, it’s not like she’s a bad mom, because she’s not, but… I dunno.”

“My family is the opposite. Whenever one of us--us being me, my brother, or my two sisters--got in trouble, my parents would sit whichever one of us down, and we’d have a conversation. Like, they’d ask  _ why  _ we did whatever, because they just… That’s how they work. I was raised to be really open and to not be some tight lipped guy with a poker up his ass.”

Tyler cackles a bit. “Yeah. That sounds nice, honestly. I have two brothers and a sister. Fun fact, but we’re quadruplets. None of us are identical, though. It’s weird, because we’re really close like siblings are, but we don’t talk about stuff going on in our lives, or feelings or what the fuck ever.”

“Dude, that’s fucking awesome. Like… quadruplets. Fuck. I’ve never met anyone with, like, that. Y’know. I have the words, but they aren’t organizing themselves right.”

“Birthdays fucking sucked, dude. We, of course, all have the same birthday, so we never got any good gifts, because my parents had to split up whatever funds they had between the four of us, and we’re not the wealthiest family alive. My dad’s an immigrant from Lebanon, and I’m not saying immigrants can’t be successful, but he’s had shit luck, and he’s obviously not white, and we all know how America is with people from Middle Eastern countries, so he couldn’t really find work. Like, he bounced around from job to job a lot. I’m sure it doesn’t help that we live in fuckin’ Ohio.”

“Can I ask about your mom? Are we getting too personal?”

“Nah. I like deep conversations. They’re interesting. My mom’s a CNA. CNAs don’t really make a lot of money, like, I think the most she ever made was thirteen bucks an hour, and having four kids at the same time made stuff pretty difficult, because she couldn’t work and stuff, at least not for a few years. Also, like, having four kids at the same time really takes a toll on your body.”

“I still think it’s cool that you’re a quadruplet.”

“What about your siblings?”

“I’m the oldest. My sister, Ashley, she’s twenty six, and Abby, my other sister, is twenty four. My  _ baby brother-- _ he hates when I call him that--he’s seventeen right now.”

“I like how there’s a sudden age difference between your siblings.”

“Listen, he was an accident, but he was a good accident. I was too young to remember my sisters being born, but it was a cool experience getting a little brother.” Josh smiles fondly, and Tyler really likes how he talks about his family. “I think half the reason I’m like a mother hen is because all my siblings are younger than me. Even though my parents were all nurturing and shit, they were both busy because they have the kinds of jobs that require a lot of time and attention, so, usually, it fell onto me to make sure my siblings were cared for and shit, at least when my parents weren’t around.”

“Yeah. Usually it was my grandparents helping my mom and dad take care of us, since we’re all the same age.”

“Can I ask what your family did when you came out? I mean, you don’t gotta tell me, and that was probably uncalled for, but I was wondering.”

“You’re fine, Josh. Me and my siblings have a really close bond, like, if we’re all in the same room, we have creepy twin shit going on, except quadruplets. They were all cool with it and supported me and shit. They’re the first ones I told. Uh, a few months after telling them, I told my mom, and she helped me tell my dad. My mom was really accepting and nice about it, and at first my dad was a little iffy, but in the end, he realized that he’s my dad and that it’s his job to be supportive. They, like, spent a lot of money on me and doctor visits and counseling, and they’re sort of the ones paying for my hormones right now. I can’t really afford to, since I work for minimum wage right now.”

“I’m glad your family is cool, man. That’s, like, awesome.”

“Have you told your parents you’re bi?”

“Yeah. They were fine with it. Hell, they already knew. My mom just looked at me, and said, “And?” Like,  _ come on.  _ It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Tyler giggles a little bit. “I already like your mom. Damn.”

 

“Okay, so, I have a bit of a dilemma,” Tyler starts as he watches Jenna work on job applications.

She looks up at him, saying, “Go on.”

“So, I met this guy at a party about a week and a half ago, and we fucked. The thing is, it was  _ the best  _ fuck of my  _ life.  _ A few days ago, I went to his apartment again, and we fucked again, and we’re sort of friends with benefits, but as it turns out, he’s really awesome and really nice and I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe you should try to get to know him more...?”

“I’m trying, man. Also, he’s totally cool with the trans thing. Like, one of his girlfriends was trans, and his best friend is trans and when we fucked he didn’t even say anything emasculating. And, this is probably TMI, but he actually paid attention to my body. Almost all of the guys I’ve fucked have just wanted ten minute quickies and, like… Jesus.” Tyler sighs wistfully. “He’s really affectionate. He kissed me a lot, and I don’t mean like those gross rough kisses. It was like deep, romantic kisses, slow ones-- _ god.  _ I swear, I’m already in love.”

“He sounds like a dream, honestly.”

“That’s not all. He didn’t say anything about my tits, other than they were cute, and he asked before just touching them. Before he’d do something, he’d always ask for my permission. It’s so awesome. Definitely TMI, but have you ever had someone, like, actually pay attention to your nipples?”

Jenna slams her hands down on the table, then holds her hands out towards Tyler. “Yes! God, yes! That’s my favorite thing. Was he good at it, or was it like he was tuning a radio?”

“He’s good at it. Like, he knew exactly how much pressure to use when pinching them, and, okay, his tongue is  _ magic.  _ I swear to god. I mean, his fingers are too, but his tongue… I’m hard just thinking about it. He went down on me. I’ve only had one guy do that before, and the guy only did it to get me turned on so it’d be easier to fuck me. Josh did it because he wanted me to feel good. Like, when he did it, it wasn’t about him. The first time and second time he went down on me he used his fingers, and, girl, let me tell you--his fingers are  _ thick,  _ with two c’s. And his  _ dick.  _ Holy fucking shit.”

“How big?” Jenna’s basically forgotten about the job applications. She’s absolutely enthralled in Tyler’s life right now.

“At least eight inches. At  _ least.  _ And it’s thick.”

“How did it fit? Jesus.”

“I’m not exactly a virgin, Jen. The first time we fucked it hurt a little bit at first, like, the tiniest bit, and he didn’t go straight to fucking my brains out. He took his time. I mean, eventually I wanted him to quit teasing me, so I told him to fucking  _ pick up the pace,  _ and,  _ god,  _ he did. Like, I don’t think any guy has fucked me as hard as he did. What’s weird, though, is he didn’t hurt me. He’s some sort of sex god.”

“You need to introduce me to him. Damn.”

“Oh, honey, I’m not done. He sent me a text about four days ago, asking me if I wanted to come over and have sex. He didn’t hint at it, he just got right to the point. Of course, being the slut I am, I said yes, and I was expecting him to throw me onto the bed and fuck me senseless right then and there, but he didn’t. Like, he let me inside, and before anything happened, I asked him if he was gay or straight or bi.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he’s bi and that he tends to gravitate towards men when it comes to dating and stuff like that. I asked him a bunch of questions, like, the ones I’d ask any potential partners, and he had perfect answers, and he was being genuine too. I could tell just from the way he looked. Like, he didn’t pretend to be some all-knowing wizard when it came to trans stuff, and he blatantly said that he doesn’t quite  _ get it,  _ but that he understands it. Or maybe he said it the other way around. Who knows. Either way, that’s basically all I wanted to hear. I also found out that he’s twenty seven. I haven’t ever been with anyone that old, but, like… it’s sort of hot in a way.”

“You’re weird, but I believe in you, Ty.”

“Okay, so, before that conversation happened, I was going to just strip and get to it, because I’m not used to taking things slow, but he stopped me and explained that he likes slow sex more than fast sex, because it’s more enjoyable or some other Halsey-ass shit. I took my binder off, and it got stuck half way, and he helped me get it off and didn’t say anything or make fun of me or whatever. I put my shirt back on after that, then we had the conversation I just got done telling you about, and then we made out.”

“Yes, continue. I want to hear all about your sexcapades.”

“He wasn’t being super invasive or anything. Like, he definitely grabbed my ass, but he wasn’t harsh about it. He just… Well, he was copping a feel, basically. A very gentle feel. I took his shirt off and, like, he was about to take mine off for me, but I was sort of nervous and asked if I could keep it on, and he didn’t even look annoyed or anything when he was like, “Yeah, of course.” I don’t know if those were his exact words, but,  _ fuck.” _

Jenna motions for him to go on.

“I did take my shirt off eventually, and like last time, he didn’t really even pay any attention to my upstairs business, but he was kind of being obvious about it. He’s really touchy-feely so his hands were all over my upper body, but whenever they’d get to a place to where they’d presumably touch the twins, he’d, like,  _ not  _ touch them, and I literally had to explain that he’s allowed to touch. It escalated pretty quickly after that. I mean, not that quickly, but quicker than it was going beforehand.”

“Did you guys just fuck after that?”

“Not quite yet. Have you ever sat on someone’s face before?”

Jenna snorts and cackles, and once she’s composed herself, she says, “Yeah, once or twice when I was dating Debby.”

“Okay, well, he went to, like, roll us over so I was on my back, but I was kind of having an off day as far as dysphoria goes, so I told him that I didn’t want to be on my back. Of course, he was cool with it, then he tells me that he wanted to go down on me. Jokingly, I responded with, “Y’know, I could always sit on your face,” but he took me seriously, and said something like, “True. How about it?” And,  _ girl,  _ it was fucking great. Like, I’ve never done that before, so I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do, but he  _ literally  _ said, “All you gotta do is sit,” or something like that. Do you  _ know  _ how hot that was?”

“I can imagine. Jeez, you’re, like, living out all of my sexual fantasies.”

“Bullshit. He’s so vanilla that it hurts, and I’ve seen your browser history, Jen. Moving forward, though. Given I was, like, on top of him, I figured that I’d have to do all the work, y’know? When I’m having sex, I’m basically a big, affectionate mess, and I’m more or less super submissive. Like, I sort of hate having control, because I get insecure and self conscious and I’m super vulnerable, so if I were to have messed up, somehow, I would’ve definitely started crying.”

“Tyler, do you have ADHD?”

“Yes, I do, and that’s not the point. Look, he was just… so affectionate with me. He wasn’t rough, at all, and he asked me if I was alright a few times while we were in the middle of the actual penetrative sex part. I have  _ never  _ had sex like that. I’ve also never came without even being touched, at least before then.  _ Also—”  _ Tyler lifts his shirt up, since he’s not wearing his binder, and since he’s comfortable around Jenna. “Look. He gave me  _ hickeys.  _ A lot of them.”

“Ty, buddy, you hold on to this man. If I hear one thing about the two of you not working out, I’m gonna be pissed. He sounds like a fucking superb guy.”

“He really is, though. I spent the night and he was going to make me breakfast, but he burnt it, so we went to Dutch Bros so I could get a blended caramel macchiato, then we went to some Japanese restaurant, because he wanted me to try a certain dish or whatever. We sat in his car eating, and had, like, a super deep conversation. He’s seriously such a nice guy.”

 

Tyler bullshits with Josh over text for a few weeks before Josh asks him if he wants to come over again. Instead of saying something about sex, it’s something about hanging out. Tyler’s more than okay hanging out with him. Though, he does have a little inkling of a gut feeling that he’s probably going to end up doing  _ something  _ with the man. He’s excited, to say the least.

Tyler has an appointment with his endocrinologist the Friday after Josh texts him, and after that, he’s set to go to Josh’s apartment. The plan is that they’re, basically, going to have a sleepover, so Tyler brings a change of clothes with him.

He has one of his old backpacks containing his change of clothes, and a few other necessities on his back when he knocks on Josh’s door, patiently waiting for him to answer. He does, of course. Tyler saw his car in the parking lot of the complex. It’d be weird if he didn’t answer. Tyler’s kind of confused at the confused look on Josh’s face, and he’s also sort of confused at how Josh has a towel wrapped around his waist, and how his hair is soaking wet. 

“I thought you were coming tomorrow,” he says slowly, eyebrows coming together.

“You said the seventh.”

“Tyler, it’s the sixth.”

“Oh,  _ fuck.”  _ Tyler cringes and smacks a palm against his forehead. “Fuck, shit, sorry. I’ll--I’ll go. I’m so sorry.”

When Tyler’s quickly turning around, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible to avoid further embarrassment, Josh grabs his arm, preventing him from moving. “Hey, you don’t have to go if you don’t wanna. I just wasn’t expecting my doorbell to go off in the middle of taking a shower.”

“Are you sure? I’m not, like, intruding or anything…?”

“No, man. Not at all. It’s just a little mix up. Nothing to worry about. I mean, if you want to leave, you can. I wouldn’t mind the company, though.”

Tyler sighs. Josh is becoming a weak spot for him. “I’ll stay. I just…” He trails off, only continuing once he’s inside and setting his bag down in front of Josh’s couch. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Can I try to be reassuring once I at least have underwear on?”

“Yeah, uh… Yeah.” Tyler waves his hand dismissively, and Josh nods once before he slips into his room.

Once in his room, Josh is  _ panicking.  _ Okay, not full on panicking, but he really,  _ really  _ wasn’t expecting Tyler today. He  _ was  _ expecting to just put on a pair of boxers, and settle down onto his couch with a glass of wine to finish rewatching Orange Is The New Black, just so he’s caught up, and so it’s fresh in his mind when the new season drops.

Instead, he’s quickly rifling through his drawers, swearing under his breath, trying to find something casual that also makes him look good. He gives up, of course, and settles on gray boxer briefs and red flannel pajama bottoms. He takes the time to check himself out in the mirror, and, alright, he still looks pretty great. He can admit that.

He tries not to come off as too eager as he’s walking back out into his living room, but he quits worrying about it when he sees Tyler with his face in his hands. Josh walks over to him, cautiously, hoping not to spook him. “You’re not crying, are you?” Josh has a gentle hand on Tyler’s shoulder.

“A little bit,” he mumbles shakily.

“Hey, hey,” Josh’s voice is doing the thing--the thing that voices do when people are trying not to upset someone further. “I don’t care that you’re a day early.”

“It’s not even that.” Tyler sits up, and wipes his palms on his jeans before wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. He hunches over again, though, crossing his arms over his midsection. It’s a simple position, but one that’s hard to describe. Either way, he’s avoiding eye contact with Josh, and trying not to work himself up further.

“Can I ask what’s wrong, then…?” Josh places his hands on Tyler’s knees, a gesture of affection.

“I’ve had a really shitty week, and I thought today was the day I was supposed to be here, and I was looking forward to it because you’re cool and I always feel kinda happy whenever we talk, but today wasn’t the day, and I was embarrassed, and now I’m all worked up because I bottle everything up and it’s bullshit, okay?”

“How was your week shitty?”

“It just was. Little things kept going wrong, like, one of my headlights went out and I got a ticket for that  _ and  _ for speeding that I can’t afford to pay right now unless I want to get evicted, and then I tripped walking into work so I have a really bad bruise on one of my shins that fucking  _ hurts,  _ and one of my brother’s fucking appendix burst so he’s been in the hospital half the damn week and he, nor my parents, can fucking afford to pay for that, and now I embarrass myself in front of you—”

“Tyler, hey, slow down and breathe. How much was the ticket?”

“One of my friends is an attorney, and he said that he reckoned I’d be out two hundred and fifty bucks. I make, like, fifteen hundred in a month, and my rent’s seven fifty, then I have to pay taxes and buy groceries and I try pitching in a little bit when it comes to appointments with my endocrinologist. I can’t afford it and, Jesus, I fucking hate being an adult.”

Josh nods, and doesn’t say anything, since he’s looking around himself for a pen. He usually tosses his keys, wallet, and checkbook onto the table next to his couch when he comes home, meaning it’s not too difficult to grab his check book. “I’ll cover the ticket for you. One less thing on your plate.”

Tyler watches him write the check, only mumbling, “Joseph,” when Josh asks for his last name, and a quiet, “Thanks,” once he’s being handed the check. “Are you sure you can afford this?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ve got a bit of money saved up.”

Tyler sniffs, and wipes at his eyes again before folding the check up, and standing for a second so he can stuff it into his back pocket, making a note to put it in his wallet later. “What do you even do?”

“I recover information from encrypted computers, and computers that’ve been wiped clean, plus smartphones and basically anything that stores information.”

“Do you, like… hack them?”

“Among other things. Can I see your phone?”

Tyler hands Josh his phone, and he watches as he turns it off. “This is fairly easy if you know what to do, and there’s, like, a bajillion tutorials on how to do it on YouTube, but…” And now Tyler watches as Josh holds down the volume up button, the home button, and the power button. He has no clue what Josh is doing, but he’s still interested. A menu pops up, kind of like ones you’d see on old computers, and Tyler wonders how Josh did it. “From here, I could completely wipe your phone of whatever’s on it without even using your passcode, I could recover any deleted files, and, like, a bunch of other shit. Usually you’d have to fuck around in the options menu that Android has, but I find that it’s easier just to do this. Takes less time.”

“That’s actually really fucking cool, dude. I mean, I’m kind of geeky as far as tech stuff goes, but you’re literally a pro at it.” Tyler sniffs, yet again, and he’s sort of glad that he’s calming down now. 

Josh turns Tyler’s phone off again, and hands it back to him. “I like my job. It’s fun. I, uh… I’m kind of the resident nerd at the place I work.”

“Where do you work? Like, what job would require those skills?”

“Law enforcement.”

“Yet you were at a college party, and you openly admitted you smoke pot to me.”

“Just because I work in law enforcement doesn’t mean I have to actually follow the laws. Okay, actually, it does, and I’m setting a bad example, but I’m not even a police officer, man. I literally just sit there and dick around with computers all day, and take home a decent paycheck.”

“Are you super rich or something? That sounds nice.”

“Fuck no. I’m still up to my dick in debt from student loans, then I have my rent, which isn’t cheap, health and car insurance, car payments since I’m still paying off my car, then I have to pay out the ass for weed, then you got utilities, cable, Netflix, and a whole bunch of shit. I mean, okay, I’m privileged, I get that, but I don’t always have a ton of money to throw around. I’m living paycheck to paycheck just like everyone else.”

“Interesting. So, uh… what do we do? What did you mean by hang out?”

“I meant hang out. I was honestly just going to lay on my couch drinking wine and watching a show, but I  _ suppose  _ I could order a pizza or something and pretend I don’t know you’re under twenty one and offer you a drink.”

“It’s barely four. I think it’s too early to be busting out the wine.”

“I meant  _ later.” _

“Okay, but what do we do until then?”

“Whatever you want.” Josh looks up at Tyler, and, okay, Tyler realizes that this man is kind of beautiful. By kind of, he means  _ very.  _

“That’s the thing, Josh,” Tyler starts as he’s intertwining the fingers on either of his hands with Josh’s, “I have no idea what I want to do.”

“Wanna watch a movie? It’d kill some time.”

“That sounds fun, actually.”

As Josh stands up, he gives into an urge to bend down and kiss Tyler, finding it sort of adorable that the younger man returns it almost immediately. He does find it super adorable, though, when Tyler’s blushing, smiling, and giggling a little bit.

 

By ten, they’re both a little tipsy from wine, and they’ve gone through almost an entire pizza. Tyler’s sitting next to Josh, leaning on him with his hands folded politely in his lap, since he’s a little flustered and too nervous to ask Josh if he wants to hold hands.

They’re watching a bad drama movie. Or, well, they’re supposed to be. Tyler’s not actually watching it, since he’s stuck in his head a little bit, and he’s not sure if Josh is paying attention to it either. He acts like it, though. Whenever Tyler looks up at him, he’s watching the TV. So, maybe he is paying attention to it. Who knows. Tyler doesn’t.

Tyler’s comfortable right now. He took his chest binder off shortly after his little meltdown, and he’s in one of Josh’s t-shirts and a pair of his own boxers. He figures out that Josh isn’t paying attention to the movie, at least not as much as he should be, when he feels a hand on his knee. Tyler instinctively spreads his thighs a little bit, just on the off chance Josh is doing what he thinks he’s doing.

Josh keeps his hand there for a while, but then he’s sliding it  _ up,  _ and Tyler bites his lip, scooting over just a tiny bit. Josh keeps his hand high up on Tyler’s thigh without moving it from there. Tyler curses himself for being so  _ sensitive,  _ because he’s getting turned on just from where Josh’s hand is. He has to wait another ten minutes before Josh takes his hand off of his thigh.

Tyler doesn’t outwardly react to it, but internally, he’s saying, “You  _ dick!”  _

Well, at least until Josh’s hand is rubbing him through his boxers. Tyler can’t help that his hips move slightly in an attempt to give Josh easier access. Josh indulges him by sliding his hand into his boxers, and at that, Tyler’s hand is gripping Josh’s thigh, just above the knee. He finds himself squeezing Josh’s thigh a little harder, trying to hold back his noises because Josh is going between rubbing his clit, gently, and teasing him by only  _ prodding  _ his hole with just two of his fingers.

Tyler closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the couch, breathing growing heavier, as Josh continues to tease him. Tyler moans softly when Josh is sliding a single finger into him. Usually, one finger isn’t enough for him to really  _ feel  _ anything, but right now he’s turned on enough that it feels as if it’s the most pleasurable thing he’s ever experienced. From the angle Josh’s hand is in, he can only get get up to the first knuckle inside of Tyler.

Tyler devolves into a desperate and ridiculously horny mess, moving his hips, trying to get  _ more,  _ and trying to glue himself to Josh’s side, all over the course of five minutes. “Josh, please,” he whimpers out pathetically.

“What do you want?” Josh’s voice sounds deeper than usual and Tyler literally wants to curse him for being so… hot.

“I don’t know. Just… something.”

Josh whispers a quiet, “I’ll take care of you,” into Tyler’s ear as he’s sliding off of the couch and dropping to his knees in front of the man.

Tyler gets the hint to take his boxers off, flinging them to a different part of the room to be picked up later. Josh is grabbing his thighs, and pulling him closer to the edge of the couch, and Tyler ends up with his legs over Josh’s shoulders just as the older man is dipping his head to lick over his hole and his clit, flattening his tongue as he does.

He does that a few more times before he’s using his thumbs to spread Tyler open, and to lick inside of him, moaning just a little bit at the taste of him. Josh likes eating pussy--what can you do, y’know?

Tyler’s still moaning softly, trying not to be too loud. He fists his hands in Josh’s hair, trying to pull the man’s face  _ closer,  _ rutting his hips just a tiny little bit. “Josh, fuck, this feels so good.”

Josh nods a tiny bit in response to that, and then he’s moving one of his arms from around Tyler’s thigh to slip a hand into his own pants because, seriously, he’s so fucking hard right now.

Once Tyler catches on to Josh touching himself (which wasn’t hard, since his mouth had basically stopped moving) he’s asking the totally predictable question of, “Are you touching yourself?”

Josh sighs, and nods, pressing a kiss to the top of Tyler’s left thigh. “I’m hard, Tyler.”

“Let me help,” he’s saying as he lays on his back, horizontal on the couch, legs spread, looking at Josh expectantly.

“I ran out of condoms, though. I used the last one the last time we did anything.”

“Oh, fuck the condom, man. Neither of us have any STDs, and I’m infertile anyways, so we don’t have to worry about  _ that.  _ Just fuck me.”

“Fuck, alright then.” 

Tyler hasn’t seen Josh move faster as the man is basically ripping his pajama bottoms and his underwear off, and climbing onto the couch between his legs. Tyler whines impatiently once he gets a glimpse of Josh’s cock, hard and leaking, but his whines turn into a moan of, “Oh, fuck,” as Josh is pressing the tip of his cock in.

Josh keeps the first few thrusts slow, as to not hurt Tyler, before he just… gets to it. He’s lost in the moment, focusing on the feeling of the tight, wet heat of Tyler’s cunt around his cock, and he almost doesn’t notice when Tyler has hands on his shoulders, saying, “Josh, wait, stop.”

He stops, and looks down at Tyler’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“It kinda hurts. We need lube.”

Josh pulls out, slowly, and lets Tyler pull him into a kiss before he’s standing up and trying to get back as soon as possible with the lube.

 

They finish their extracurricular activities about half past midnight. Yes, they spent two and a half hours fucking. Wild, isn’t it?

Tyler’s drenched in sweat, and cum, and he’s giggling sleepily, looking down at Josh, who is smiling back up at him, and after brushing the man’s hair, which is, like, sort of damp from all the sweating, out of his face, and after Josh looks up at him with his stupid eyes that Tyler didn’t know were so wide and pretty, he realizes that Josh is the image of beauty. 

His stubble makes Tyler’s hand itch when he’s placing it on the side of Josh’s face, and it scratches his chin and upper lip when he’s kissing him. It’s a soft kiss, and there’s not a lot of pressure behind it. Most of their kisses are either pecks or really deep, romantic ones, but this one is more… affectionate. Yeah, that’s the word.

Tyler’s also feeling comfortable, completely comfortable, with his body for once, and he isn’t rushing to put on clothes right now. Josh doesn’t care about how his breasts are pressed against his chest, and, okay, it’s a small thing, but it’s important to Tyler.

Josh has a hand on Tyler’s back, absently tracing patterns with his fingers, and his other hand is running through Tyler’s sex hair, and once his hand is on the back of his head, he pulls him in for another one of those affectionate kisses. “Tyler, I haven’t had sex like that since… probably ever.”

“I haven’t met a guy who’s been able to make me cum four times. Watch out, Joshua Dun, because orgasms are the way to my heart.” Tyler cackles after saying that, and he’s pretty sure Josh is about to say  _ something,  _ given the look on his face, and, hell, Tyler would even go so far as to say it was something, y’know,  _ gay;  _ an indication that he likes Tyler, but they’re interrupted by the sound of the lock on the front door jiggling.

Josh’s head pokes up over the arm of the couch, as best as it can given the position he’s in, and when the lock jiggling continues, Tyler rolls off of him to allow him to get up and grab the nearest object that could be used for hitting an intruder. (It’s a fireplace poker, which confuses Tyler, since Josh doesn’t even have a fireplace.)

Tyler grabs the shirt of Josh’s that he’d been wearing, since it was closest, and holds it over his chest, before grabbing a throw pillow to cover his fun bits  _ just before  _ the door opens.

Josh raises his arms, ready to swing.

“Jesus, fuck! Holy shit, Josh! Put that shit down--it’s just me.”

“What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing here at  _ midnight  _ on a  _ Friday?”  _ Josh shouts, looking exasperated.

Tyler has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing at the situation.

“I got wasted earlier and picked a fight with Dallon. He kicked me out for the night, and I need a place to crash before I go home and kiss his ass for a few days. Jesus.” Brendon groans and squeezes his eyes shut before squinting over at Tyler, then looking back to Josh. “You can go back to fucking your boyfriend. I’m sleeping in the other bedroom.”

Josh puts the fireplace poker back where it came from after Brendon’s disappeared down the hall, and he gives Tyler a miserable look. “He scared the shit out of me.”

“Put your pants on so you can go sleep or something.” Tyler rolls his eyes a little bit, and tosses Josh’s pants towards him.

By the time Josh has his pants on again, Tyler already has a shirt and his underwear back on, and he asks Josh for a pillow and a blanket. “You aren’t coming with me…?”

“I… just thought you might be more comfortable if I slept out here…? I sleep on couches whenever I’m at someone’s house, or, well, apartment, I guess, since none of my friends own houses.”

“I kind of like sleeping next to you. Also, I’m still shaken up at Brendon scaring the shit out of me and I might or might not want your affection right now.”

Tyler’s heart is thudding in his chest, not from being scared but from what Josh just said. He still says, “That’s kinda gay, man,” as he’s walking past Josh, on the way to the man’s room, though.

 

“Keep it in your pants, Josh,” Tyler mumbles when he wakes up to morning wood pressed against his ass.

He hears Josh sigh. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, I guess.”

“I guess not. I’m sore from last night. I mean, it was great, but your dick is like the fucking Titanic.”

“It hit an iceberg and sank?”

“I mean that it’s fucking huge, dumb ass.”

“Well, my  _ fucking huge  _ dick wants to be in your… dick.”

Tyler lets out a long, drawn out snort, before cracking up and stuffing his face into the pillow he’s using. After composing himself, he says, “You can say ‘cunt,’ Josh. I mean, don’t go calling my downstairs business ‘lady parts’ but you’re allowed to call my downstairs business a cunt. A very manly cunt.”

Josh moves the hand that’s on Tyler’s waist up and under his shirt to cup a breast. “A very manly, tight little cunt, that I really wanna fuck right now.”

“Alright, alright, keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Cop-A-Feel.” Tyler nudges him, and Josh sighs again as he removes his hand. “Go jerk off in the bathroom while I check my phone and shit.”

Josh listens to him, and he’s in the master bathroom within seconds.

Tyler smiles a soft, fond smile, once the door closes behind Josh.

 

Josh takes a shower, so Tyler heads towards his kitchen to see if he can’t make himself, like, a sandwich or something. Brendon’s in there, though, already cooking. 

“Making enough for three, or just yourself?” Tyler says about half of that question through a yawn as he sits on the counter again like he did the last time Brendon made breakfast and he was there for it.

“Yeah. The first one. Hangover food,” he grumbles in a gravelly voice. “Are you and Josh together?”

Tyler wasn’t really expecting that question. “No. We’re fuck buddies, basically. I mean, we’re friends too, I hope, but we aren’t, like, in a relationship or anything.”

“He likes you, y’know.” Brendon cocks a brow at Tyler.

“How do you know?”

“ _ Please _ , he’s been ‘Tyler this’ and ‘Tyler that’ since he met you.” Brendon even goes so far as to mimic the slight lisp that Josh has. Tyler has to tip his hat at that, because, hey, that’s dedication. “He’s been my best friend most of my life. I know what he’s like when he likes someone. How about you? Do you like him?”

“How can I not? He’s a fucking dream.”

“What’s he like?”

“You’re his best friend. Why are you asking me?”

“In  _ your  _ eyes, what’s he like? How would you describe him?”

“I came four times last night, and I’m actually sore just from fucking him. I think my perception is a little skewed.”

“Quit avoiding the question.”

“He’s a good person. Anyways, even if I like him, how would I even go about doing anything?”

“Ask him out.”

“You talked about that Dallon guy last night. How’d you end up with him?”

“For all you know, he could be my brother.”

“Who the fuck names a kid  _ Brendon,  _ then names one  _ Dallon?” _

“That’s not my dead name, but you have a point. I dunno. Dallon was with Josh for, like, two or three years, but then we got close and I started liking him and I told Josh, because it’d be shitty of me to homewreck his relationship, but he told me that he didn’t really see it going anywhere so they broke up and now he’s my boyfriend. Though, I do find it weird that it took us four years to move in together.”

“Again,  _ how?  _ That’s just irrelevant trivia.”

“I asked him out on a date and we clicked.”

“I can’t just  _ do that!” _

“Do what?” Enter Josh, stage left, drying his hair with a hand towel in one hand, heading towards the fridge to open it with the other.

“He wants to ask you out on a date,” Brendon says bluntly.

Tyler grabs the thing nearest to him, which happens to be a dish towel, and he whacks Brendon with it, saying, “You fucking  _ asshole!” _

“What? He asked.”

“Sure.” Josh shrugs after saying that, and takes a swig of the orange juice, straight out of the bottle, before screwing the lid back on and sticking the bottle in the fridge.

“Sure what?”

“Sure, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“No! I don’t want that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want  _ you  _ to ask me on a date. I’m not making the first move here. You have to do that.”

Josh rolls his eyes. “Tyler, would you like to go out on a date with me?”

“If you don’t say yes, I’m not giving you breakfast.”

Tyler says ‘yes.’

 

“Jen, he’s gonna be here any minute, and I don’t know what the hell to wear.” Tyler is surrounded by a pile of his own clothes.

Jenna rolls her eyes and stands up from where she was sitting on Tyler’s bed, watching him try on different things. “I’m picking your outfit, and you’re not changing or I’m going to shoot you.” She looks around until she finds the black button up Tyler wore to his senior prom, and she throws it at him, then she looks around some more until she spots his favorite pair of black skinny jeans, and makes the mental connection that he’s a fucking  _ emo.  _ “Find socks, then wear your dress shoes that you blew a few grand on. He’s not taking you to a super fancy restaurant. I’ve been to the one you said he was taking you do, and you don’t have to dress up like… I dunno, but you don’t have to walk in there decked out in a designer suit. A button up and jeans that aren’t blue will be fine, plus your weird Prada shoes.”

“Okay, okay, alright. You need to help me with my hair and my eye bags, though.”

 

Tyler paces around his living room, nibbling on his thumbnails, and fiddling with his keys with his other hand when there’s three simple knocks on the door. He starts panicking again, so Jenna, once more, takes control over the situation with a roll of her eyes and answers the door.

_ “This  _ is the guy you’ve been fucking?” Jenna turns her head to give Tyler an incredulous look. “He’s fucking hot. Goddamn, Ty.”

“Jenna, shut up,” Tyler whisper shouts at her. For the first time, he makes eye contact with Josh, and in his head, ‘Take My Breath Away’ starts playing, because, hey, he literally cannot breathe, because Josh looks  _ so good.  _

He’s holding a bouquet of white roses and white gardenias. “Uh… Hi.” He’s not dressed up super formally either. He’s like Tyler, in which he’s only wearing a button up and a nice pair of jeans.

“You, uh… You clean up really good. Jesus. Anyways,” Tyler marches over to him, and takes the flowers, handing them to Jenna. “Jenna, put those in a vase, and Josh, we’re leaving before she embarrasses me.”

Josh snorts and grins, and steps back so Tyler can walk out of his apartment, closing the door behind him. “What did you think of the flowers?” Josh asks as Tyler follows him to his car.

“They’re pretty. White gardenias are my favorite.”

“Personally, I like lilacs. Uh, growing up, we used to have a few lilac bushes in our front lawn.”

“That’s cool. We had, like, dead rose bushes; a metaphor for my life.”

“White roses and white gardenias symbolize purity, or at least that’s what the florist I went to said, and you’re just a pure person in my eyes, so I thought they were appropriate.”

“That’s gay, dude.”

“I’m taking you on a date. It’s my job to be romantic and disgustingly cute.”

“Again,  _ gay.” _

 

“What are we even supposed to talk about?” Tyler’s picking at his appetizer, a salad, and avoiding eye contact with Josh since he’s nervous. “I haven’t been on an actual date before.”

“About whatever. How was your week? That’s a good thing to start with.”

“It was alright. My brother’s out of the hospital, and my parents’ anniversary is some time this week, so I got them a card. How about you?”

“Kind of like yours. It was alright. My baby brother stayed with me for a few days, because he wanted to hang out, and I’m always sort of busy with work so I haven’t had the time lately. Uh… I’ve been trying to talk Brendon out of doing something crazy for my birthday next week, because I don’t want some big celebration of my waning mortality.”

“Your birthday? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It didn’t come up, and, again, I don’t want a big celebration.”

“Still, man. I would’ve at least come over so we could… Y’know. What day next week?”

“Wednesday.”

“I’m getting you a card. You can’t stop me from doing that.” Tyler points his fork at Josh, and tries giving him his most serious expression.

“Okay, fine. I will accept a card.”

“So, uh… do you actually want to be here with me, or did you ask because you felt bad?”

“I would’ve asked sooner. I just didn’t think you were into me like that.”

Tyler gently kicks Josh under the table. “Of course I am.”

“Well, that’s good.”

 

“Do you want to come home with me, or do you want me to take you to your apartment?” Josh asks Tyler this while they’re walking from the restaurant and to his car. He has a hand on Tyler’s upper back, and Tyler’s subconsciously walking a little closer to him than necessary.

“Am I gonna get laid if I go home with you?”

“Possibly.”

“If I come over I’m gonna need to borrow a shirt. As much as I love my body, I’m still not comfortable enough to walk around with my titties out.”

Josh chuckles at Tyler’s phrasing. “No problem. I’ve got plenty of shirts you can borrow.”

“I want the biggest shirt you got.” Tyler’s pushing Josh up against the side of the man’s car, pressing his body against him, and throwing his arms over his shoulders.

Josh keeps his hands on Tyler’s waist. “Yeah? Why?”

“Because I’m small and cute and big t-shirts make me look, like, even more small and cute.”

“Well, I do like how my shirts look on you.”

Tyler smiles softly, and stands up on his toes to kiss Josh on the lips. Josh tilts his head a bit to deepen the kiss, but then Tyler’s pulling away, sputtering, then pulling something out of his mouth and flicking it onto the ground. “One of your fucking beard hairs got in my mouth.”

“I apologize for being too lazy to shave.”

Tyler rolls his eyes, and kisses him quickly. “You can make it up to me later.”

 

Tyler’s getting pressed up against the wall the second he’s in Josh’s apartment, neck being attacked by Josh’s lips. Tyler knows Josh is giving him a hickey. (It’s pretty hard to miss someone sucking on your neck, to be fair.) When Josh is done with his hickey business, he’s lifting his head from Tyler’s neck, lowly asking, “How am I making it up to you?”

“Well,” Tyler starts as he throws his arms over Josh’s shoulders. “I want to sit on your face, and I want you to make me cum. After that, I want you to fuck me until I cum again. Think you can manage that?  _ Daddy?” _

And then Tyler finds himself being kissed roughly, with Josh’s hands possessive on his waist. He mumbles, “Whatever you want, baby boy,” before he hoists Tyler up, and carries him to the bedroom.

Tyler giggles a little bit as he wraps his legs around Josh’s waist, as to not fall, even though the man has a firm grip on his thighs.

Tyler gets unceremoniously deposited onto the bed, and he almost moans as he watches Josh fall to his knees. Josh runs his hands up Tyler’s thighs, up until they’re at the waistband of his jeans. He unbuckles Tyler's belt, then unbuttons his pants before unzipping them.

Josh’s jaw drops open a little bit when he catches sight of the mint striped panties the boy on his bed is wearing. “Panties?”

“They’re cute. I like feeling cute sometimes. Do you not like them?”

“Babe, they’re perfect.” Josh hikes Tyler’s shirt and part of his binder up a bit so he can press a tiny kiss right below his belly button. “You could wear a burlap sack and I’d still find you hot.”

Tyler makes a soft ‘pft’ noise and blushes a bit. “Stop making me blush. It’s unfair.”

Josh laughs lightly. “How so?”

“It just is.”

Josh jokingly rolls his eyes, and gently takes Tyler’s shoes off before grabbing at the waistband of his jeans, and tugging them off. Tyler stops him about mid thigh.

“Can, um… Okay, I’m suddenly feeling super insecure.”

“Is it ‘cause of these?” Josh barely snaps the waistband of the panties Tyler is wearing.

“Basically, yeah.”

“Tyler, you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.” Josh caresses his hip. “I seriously think you’re perfect, okay? And adorable. Very adorable. Adorable enough that I want to absolutely ruin you.”

“Can you, uh…”

“Can I what?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Tyler, we’ve already seen each other naked. I think we should be past that.”

Tyler gets Josh in the side with his foot. “Can you just… be affectionate with me…? Like, I still want to bust that sweet nut a few times, but… I dunno. I’m feeling vulnerable and I want attention from you.” 

“Do you just want to cuddle for a bit? I feel like we're rushing this when we don't need to.”

“Do I have to put my pants back on?”

“Nah. I’m stripping down to my underwear. It’s a little stuffy in here anyways.” Josh stands up, and starts undressing.

While Josh is undressing, Tyler undresses. He holds an arm over his chest as he asks, “Can I borrow a shirt?”

“Which one?”

“Whichever one you think I’d look cutest in.”

Josh hands Tyler a large, gray shirt, one that’s way too big, even for Josh. He also winks at Tyler, which draws a blush from him. “Stop it. You’re cute.”

“I was going for sexy.”

“That too.”

Josh sticks his tongue out at Tyler for a second, before walking over to the light switch to dim the lights. After that, he walks over to the speakers in his room, which are on his desk. He plugs his phone in, turns the volume down low enough to where it's not high enough to distract them, then hits shuffle.

Tyler says, “I like your music taste,” at the first song, and Josh grins at him.

“Pretty sure you’re the first person who does. Brendon always changes my music to, like, Journey and all that. He’s a classic rock snob.”

“I like alternative music, and pop. I’m basic.”

“Nah, you’re not.” Josh gets onto his bed, and scoots across it, until he’s laying on his side, head propped up with one arm, facing Tyler, who’s turning around now to crawl over to Josh.

Tyler figures Josh wants to spoon him, but he still lies down facing the man, with an arm around his waist. Josh places a hand on Tyler’s cheek, and kisses his forehead. “Josh, I hate to ruin the moment, but my boobs are so fucking sore. Jesus.”

“How long were you wearing your binder?”

“Since I got up at, like, five.”

Josh scoffs, since it’s almost eight. “Babe, that’s way too long.”

“I know, but I wasn’t going out to dinner with you with them all visible through my shirt. It would’ve looked weird.”

“Fair enough, but still.” Josh pecks Tyler on the lips. “Well,  _ kind sir,  _ would you fancy a boob massage?” Josh poorly mimics a British accent, causing Tyler to crack up.

“I hate you. Are you gonna be weird about it? Like, if you’re going to massage them, don’t make it weird.”

“Why does it gotta be weird?”

“I dunno. Usually when you touch them, we’re, like, in the middle of doing stuff.”

“Well, we aren’t in the middle of doing stuff, if you ignore my, like, half boner.”

“I mean, same. My nipples are really hard.”

“I can see that.” Josh’s eyes flick  _ down,  _ then back up to Tyler’s.

“Well, so are yours. Shut up.”

Josh chuckles and kisses Tyler again. He softly asks, “Over or under the shirt?”

“Under.” Tyler bites his lip a bit when he feels Josh’s hand on his thigh, slowly moving up, and Tyler rolls his eyes when Josh squeezes his ass while his hand is on the journey to Titty Ville. When the man’s hand is on his ribcage, Josh is leaning forward to kiss him for the, like, millionth time. Josh is  _ so  _ gentle as he cups Tyler’s left breast in his hand, and as he does what he said he was gonna do.

“Bro, your hands are like magic. Who knew that you groping me would feel good?”

“Is it groping if you ask me to do it, though?”

“I’m trying to sound funny, you ass.” Tyler nudges Josh with one of his hands, and Josh rolls onto his back, acting as if Tyler had shoved him. “Hey, keep your hand on the titty. Your hand must not leave the titty at any time unless I say so.”

“The titty? Is that what you’re calling them now?”

“Yes.”

Josh huffs and, Tyler watches him sit up. He spreads his legs a bit, then pats the space on the bed between them. “Sit here, facing away from me.”

“Your boner is gonna be pressed against my back.”

“My boner has been in more questionable places on your body.”

“Okay, that’s… true. I’ll give you that.” Tyler sits up as well, and he sits Indian-style between Josh’s legs, leaning back until his back is pressed against Josh’s chest. Josh runs both of his hands up Tyler’s shirt this time, and Tyler ends up saying, “I said massage my boobs, not play with my nipples, dude,” after gasping slightly, since he wasn’t expecting it.

“I couldn’t help it,” Josh mumbles as he tucks his face into the place between Tyler’s neck and his shoulder, causing Tyler to flinch away and mutter something about Josh’s beard tickling him before he goes back to his original position.

“Can I just say that I think you look really,  _ really  _ hot with your beard?” Tyler cranes his head back until it’s resting against Josh’s shoulder.

Josh nips at his neck and smiles into it a little bit. “You may say that. I think you look hot when you grow your stubble out. I also really,  _ really  _ like your leg hair. It’s fuckin’ great.”

“I’m seriously going to be sad when you shave your beard. If I didn’t have any self control I’d probably be touching it all the time.”

“If I wasn’t trying to be respectful I’d most definitely be touching your, like, chest area all the time.”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t really care if you did, so long as you asked first and as long as I’m not, like, super dysphoric or whatever. I mean, like, I’m always at least a little dysphoric, but I trust you and you kinda make me feel safe. If you were anyone else, I probably wouldn’t let you so much as touch me.”

“I like touching you. I mean, not in a weird way; I’m just… affectionate.” Josh mumbles that into the top of Tyler’s head, still massaging his breasts.

“Dude, are you okay? It feels like you’re super hard right now.”

“Probably because I am. I’m fine, though. Don’t worry about it. Are you, like… turned on right now? Asking for a friend.”

“Dork. A little bit. I mean, you’re hot, you’re touching my tits, and your hard on is digging into my back right now and you keep moving your hips just a little bit. I’d be surprised if I  _ wasn’t  _ turned on.”

Josh slides one of his hands down Tyler’s abdomen, stopping at the hem of the panties, waiting for Tyler to give him permission. Tyler gives him permission by moving Josh’s hand  _ down _ himself. 

Josh rubs Tyler through the panties, and Tyler spreads his legs just a little bit. 

Tyler takes a minute to take in the size difference between him and Josh. Where Tyler’s legs are slender and his feet are small, Josh’s legs are muscular and  _ thick,  _ and Tyler has to admit that he’s jealous of Josh’s leg hair. He puts his hands on Josh’s thighs, mostly so he has something to grab onto, and since he kinda just wanted to touch them in the first place.

Josh mumbles, “My thighs are really sensitive,” into the top of Tyler’s head, and when Tyler runs his hands up the insides of Josh’s thighs, the man sighs and moves the hand that isn't rubbing Tyler through the underwear to Tyler's waist. “I wanna fuck you with these on.”

“Maybe another time. I have better pairs anyways.”

“God, that sounds hot. What counts as better?”

“What? Do you want me to describe them to you?” Tyler’s voice is soft and breathy and he’s looking at Josh’s face as best as he can.

“Give me some spank bank material.”

“Ew. That's so not attractive.”

Josh shushes Tyler and kisses his neck, before slipping a hand into the panties, and slipping a finger into Tyler's hole.

Tyler lets out a bit of a satisfied sigh, and squeezes Josh's thighs a little rougher than he intended to, but it works out, since Josh lets out a bit of a squeaking noise and slides another finger into Tyler.

Tyler starts describing all of the different pairs of panties he owns. “My favorite pair is red silk with a black lace trim. I always feel… kinda  _ naughty  _ whenever I wear them.”

“I bet you look amazing.”

“Another favorite of mine are black with red embroidered roses. They’re, uh, they're pretty cute. I--fuck--I have a, uh, picture of myself wearing them somewhere on my ph-phone. Fuck. How do you expect me to talk right now?”

“You don’t have to, but you sound so hot right now, baby.” Josh runs his left hand, the one not fingering Tyler, through Tyler’s hair. He slides his hand down Tyler’s left arm, up until he reaches his hand. Tyler releases his grip on Josh's left thigh so he can hold the man’s hand. (Or at least let Josh hold his, given their position.)

“I have a pair of black ones with “Yes, Daddy?”  on the back in red font.”

“I'm going to end up cumming just from picturing that. Fuck.” Josh’s head tips back when Tyler's moving against his cock intentionally. “Alright, shit, can I fuck you?”

“What? Don't want me to sit on your face?” Tyler's voice is a little breathy, and he interrupts himself a few times to let out the tiniest, high pitched moans since Josh is hitting his g-spot. 

“I’d love you to, but I want to fuck a few orgasms out of your tight little cunt more.”

“If you start fucking me within the next minute or two, I’ll probably cum.”

“Fuck, alright. I can do that.” Josh is pulling his fingers from Tyler’s cunt, and climbing out from behind him, to pretty much rip his boxers off.

Tyler takes his panties off, and when Josh asks, “Do you want to take the shirt off?” he shakes his head, muttering something about dysphoria. Josh kisses him and tells him that it’s okay.

Tyler watches him grab the bottle of lube he keeps under the edge of his bed, and he reaches a hand down to rub at his clit while he waits for the man to finish squirting lube onto his cock. When Josh is kneeling between Tyler’s legs, getting ready to push in, Tyler’s wrapping his legs around Josh's hips, trying to urge him to hurry. 

Tyler’s fingernails rake down Josh’s back, and it takes him about three minutes before he’s cumming. Josh fucks him through it, and he takes a break from rubbing Tyler's clit with his thumb, since his body had basically started convulsing from the oversensitivity.  

“Josh,” Tyler starts, but he cuts himself off with a moan.

“What is it?” He asks, without faltering a single bit.

“Attention.”

Josh goes from propping himself up with his hands to propping himself up with his elbows. He touches Tyler’s hair with one hand, and bends down to kiss all over his face. Once Josh kisses him on the lips, Tyler’s hands gravitate to his upper back rather than his waist, and he kisses back fervently. 

They gasp and moan into each other’s mouths, and Tyler finds himself melting when Josh is mumbling praise into his neck. “You feel so good, baby boy.”

Tyler whines a little bit, wrapping his arms around Josh, and pulling him closer. Josh manages to comply to Tyler’s wishes, letting him basically cling to him. “Faster, Daddy, please.”

And now Josh is muttering a quiet, “Oh my god,” since he sort of wasn’t expecting that phrase to fall out of Tyler’s mouth. He can’t help but to listen to him, whispering, “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

“Oh, god--call me that again.”

“What? Sweetheart?”

Tyler nods, and tries to muffle a few moans by biting Josh’s shoulder a bit. 

“You're doing so good, sweetheart; taking Daddy’s cock so well.”

Tyler bites his shoulder a little harder, and removes an arm from Josh’s back so he can reach down and rub his clit. Josh goes to do it for him, but Tyler won't let him pull away, mumbling, “I’m clingy.”

“That’s alright, babe.”

“I like when you talk to me. Makes me feel good.” Tyler’s arching his back a little bit, and he’s clenching around Josh a little bit. “I’m getting close again.”

Josh starts thrusting into Tyler faster, since he's close as well. “C’mon, sweetheart. Cum for Daddy, just like a good boy.”

Tyler whimpers a little bit at the pet names, and he starts letting out the cutest, tiniest, gaspy little moans. “Daddy please.  _ Fuck fuck fuck _ —” Tyler’s letting out an almost shouting sort of moan, and he tightens around Josh,  _ hard,  _ babbling a little bit while Josh fucks him nice and hard through another orgasm.

“Ty, I wanna cum in your tight little cunt.”

“Do it, then. Cum inside of me.” Tyler finds it hot, the way Josh starts whining and gasping a little bit as he’s reaching his climax, and Tyler’s letting out a moan at the feeling of Josh spilling into him.

Josh stays put for a minute or two to catch his breath before sitting up, and looking down at Tyler. His head is tilted back, and his eyes are closed, but his red, plump lips are open, and he’s still breathing a little heavily. His cheeks are flushed and glistening a little bit. There’s a few hickeys on his neck, and Josh sort of can’t help himself when he says, “You’re beautiful.”

Tyler’s eyes blink open, and he gives Josh a sort of dopey little smile. “You’re not too bad yourself, J. Also, that’s the only time I’m ever calling you that. One of my brothers’ name is Jay.”

Josh chuckles, and reaches towards his side table for a few tissues. He slowly pulls out, and cleans Tyler up as best as he can with a few tissues before he’s flopping onto his back next to him. “That had to have been our best fuck yet.”

“Agreed. Also, I’m serious about loving pet names. Like, call me pet names, and I’m basically yours, honestly.” Tyler rolls onto his stomach with his face smushed into the mattress, staring at Josh.

“I don’t mind being called ‘babe.’ Now, call me  _ daddy,  _ and you will own my gay ass.”

“You’re such a softy.”

“I know I am. You got any favorites?”

“Sweetheart, kitten, babe, baby boy, and honey. Those are my favorites. No one ever calls me any of those, besides you, because no one ever thinks to call a guy that stuff. Like, I  _ love  _ pet names. They make me feel, like… I don’t know. Giddy. Happy. Safe.”

“Whenever someone calls me ‘daddy’ and not in a sexual way, I either get hard, or I go, like, “Aww,” then give whoever a hug. It’s weird but it’s kinda cute to me, y’know?”

“I get that. Dude, none of my friends know how affectionate I am. It’s awkward whenever one of them realizes I’m soft as fuck, because usually, I’m a little… closed off. Distant.”

“I also get that. Some people like to assume I’m a dick since I’m all tall and buff and don’t really talk to people, at work at least, but it's like… Sometimes I just want someone to run their fingers through my hair and tell me everything's gonna be alright.”

“Anxiety?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Me too, man. I just want someone to hold me when I’m scared; make me feel safe and protected.” Tyler sighs a little bit. “Do you ever get this overwhelming feeling of loneliness, and it feels like a punch to the gut?”

“Dude, yes. All the time.”

“I’ve always felt so alone.” Tyler has a sad look on his face, and Josh rolls onto his stomach so he can place a hand on Tyler’s cheek. “Like, I’m trans, and growing up I felt like I didn’t belong, even with my siblings. Even now I don’t have very many friends, and the ones I do have aren't the best. Since I met you, though, I haven’t felt quite as alone as I usually do. No homo.”

“Even if we aren't technically together, it's still nice to have someone.”

“That’s true. Somehow, I always feel super comfortable and safe and all that shit when I’m with you. I think it’s because I trust you so much, which is weird, because I don’t trust people very easily.”

“Why me?”

“I asked a few certain questions and you had, like, perfect answers, and you’re also just a good person in general. Also, I mean, we both have daddy kinks. Obviously it's meant to be.”

Josh snorts and scoots towards Tyler a little more. “Obviously. So, uh, was this a good first date?”

Tyler starts giggling. “Yes, Josh, it was a good first date.”

 

When Josh gets out of the shower the next morning, Tyler's laying on his stomach, on top of the blankets, and Josh almost drops dead, because Tyler looks so  _ adorable,  _ and also sorta hot. The gray, oversized t-shirt of Josh's he's wearing is ridden up enough that Josh can see, like, a lot of his beautifully tanned back. He's wearing the panties again, and Josh really wishes he took the time to appreciate how amazing he looks when they were fooling around the night before.  “Ty, baby, you're gorgeous.”

Tyler smiles sleepily over his shoulder. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Josh blushes, plain and simple. Tyler calls him out on it.

“What? You called me ‘baby.’”

“You're cute and I wasn't expecting it.”

Tyler rolls his eyes, yawns, then rolls onto his back and holds his arms out toward Josh. “C’mere and give me some attention. I'm sleepy and gay.”

Josh smiles softly and pulls on a pair of underwear before he lays next to Tyler. “Sleepy  _ and  _ gay?”

“Yes.” Tyler kisses Josh on the cheek, then nestles himself into the man’s side. “Why’re you up so early?”

“My pager went off this morning. Gotta be at work within the next hour or two.”

“What? Why? It’s Saturday.” Tyler grumbles and lets his eyes slip shut. He’s very,  _ very  _ sleepy.

“We’re in the middle of a bunch of big cases, and my computer sleuthing skills are required, like, ASAP apparently. I get overtime, so it’s worth it. Do you want me to take you home right now or do you want to hang around until I’m done working?”

“When do you think you’ll be done?”

“Depends. I could be done by noon, but I could also not be done until this evening. If it’s something simple like restoring the memory on a laptop or something, then, yeah, I’ll be done by noon, but if it’s something that requires getting into encrypted files and a bunch of other complicated shit that I can’t explain within a minute, then I could be stuck there forever.”

“If you’re stuck there forever I’m gonna get lonely.”

“You’re really tired, aren’t you?”

“Very. I should probably go home and change my clothes. I wasn’t anticipating spending the night.” Tyler sighs. “You’re so warm, though.”

“Dude, it’s June, and it’s hot. If you’re feeling cold right now, I’m going to be mighty impressed with you.”

“I’m always cold, man.”

Josh huffs and runs his fingers through Tyler’s hair. “Relatable, though. Anyways, I really need to get dressed. The lieutenant gets pissy with me if I don’t show up within an hour of being paged.”

“Tell whoever to calm the fuck down, then.” Tyler sighs, and sits up, shooing Josh off the bed. Before he gets up to put his pants back on, he asks, “Can I keep your t-shirt?” in a shy tone.

“Why?” Josh doesn’t sound mean or anything, or really even confused, but rather curious. He’s cocking a brow at Tyler as he’s tugging on a pair of slacks.

“It’s comfortable, and, let’s be real, I’m pretty cute in it.”

“I want to make a remark about me not having many t-shirts, but I never wear that one, and you’re right--you look pretty damn cute. You may keep it.”

 

Josh walks Tyler up to his apartment, just to make sure he got there safe, and before he heads back towards the elevator, he pecks Tyler on the forehead. Tyler smiles a little stupidly, and shakes his head as he unlocks his apartment. Tyler tosses his shirt onto the coat rack he keeps but never uses next to the door, and he’s about to head towards his bedroom to put his binder into his underwear drawer, where he usually keeps it when he’s not wearing it, but he gets startled when he sees one of his brothers, Zack, sitting on his couch, eating chips and looking at his phone.

“I gave you a key for  _ emergencies,  _ not just so you can come over here and eat my junk food. Jesus, Zack.” Tyler sighs and glares at his brother for a few moments before he puts his chest binder away, and plugs his own phone in, since he’d apparently forgotten to do it the night before. When he walks back out into his living room, and before he steps into his kitchen to get a bottle of water, he asks, “Why are you even here?”

Zack raises his voice a little bit just to make sure Tyler can hear him from the tiny kitchen. “Mom and Dad are so far up Jay’s ass right now and I needed a break. They’ve been all like,  _ ‘Aldhdhahab ta’akkad min ‘annah ealaa ma yaram, Zack,’  _ and, ‘Take him this medication and that medication, Zack,’ and blah, blah,  _ blah.”  _ (Translation: “Go make sure he’s alright, Zack.”)

“He could’ve died, y’know,” Tyler mumbles as he slouches down on the other end of his couch. He turns the TV on and keeps the volume low while they watch the local news.

“So? He’s twenty years old. Near death experience or not, he doesn’t need me, Mom, Dad, and Maddy up his ass all the damn time. You’d be included if you hadn’t have moved out. Where were you, anyways? You’re, like, always here.”

“I was at a friends house.” Tyler shrugs.  _ Technically,  _ it’s the truth. 

“Bullshit. You have fresh hickeys.”

“What? I can’t fuck my friends?”

“If you fuck them, then they’re more than a friend. You can’t just fuck a friend. It always leads to either more, or a mess. Or both, depending on how you look at it.”

“His name’s Josh. We’ve been, like, seeing each other I guess for about a month and a half now. We went on a date last night, then we went back to his place and fucked and hung out. Nothing too interesting.”

“A date? You don’t do dates.”

“He’s different, okay? He’s really nice and cute and we have a lot of sex and he’s, like, great.”

“How great? My baby brother can’t be dating someone that doesn’t deserve him.”

“For one thing, I’m the oldest out of the four of us, and for another, we aren’t dating.”

“You went on a date with him and apparently you fuck him regularly. That’s dating.”

“It’s called being fuck buddies who are also a little gay together.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does to me. I like what we have. We don’t have to be in some super official relationship and be like… some power couple or whatever to have something.”

“What’s he like, though?”

“I already told you.”

“Personality, looks, job, prospects, benefits, how he treats you, how he treats his family, etcetera.”

“He acts like a cocky asshole but he’s super sweet. Like, he gave me two hundred and fifty dollars to cover a ticket because I couldn’t afford it, and he refuses to let me pay him back. He also gets the trans thing. His best friend is trans and one of his girlfriends was trans, so he’s totally cool about boundaries and not misgendering me.”

“Sounds good so far. Continue.”

Tyler rolls his eyes at his brother. “He’s very handsome. Um…” Tyler pulls up a picture of Josh on his phone, and shows it to Zack. It’s one he was sneaky about taking while Josh had been cooking breakfast for him at some point. He’s smiling in the picture, talking about something, and he just looks…  _ good.  _ “Yeah.”

“Dude, I’m straight and all, but he’s fucking hot. Good job.”

Tyler rolls his eyes  _ again.  _ “I forgot what he said it was exactly, but he works in law enforcement. He’s basically a lab geek, I think. Like, he works with computers and all that. Said stuff about encrypted files. He’s really smart. Um, I dunno about prospects, but I’m assuming he has alright insurance. He has a nice car and a nice apartment.”

“Good, good.”

“He treats me like a prince, to keep it simple. A lot of our relationship is just sex, but in and outside of sex he’s so respectful and kind. He's the kind of guy who wouldn't even dare to make me lift a finger.”

“Even better.”

“I haven't met his family or seen him around his family, but he always sounds…  _ fond  _ when he talks about them. He’s the eldest sibling and he’s the kind of guy who grew up taking care of people.”

“How old is he anyways? He’s definitely older than you.”

“Twenty seven. He turns twenty eight on Wednesday, though. I know that's a big age difference, but, like… it’s kind of hot.”

“I can’t necessarily relate to that, but… nice. Is he the real deal then? Endgame?”

“I’m not sure about endgame, but I wouldn't mind being with him for the time being.” Tyler picks at one of his thumbnails. “How do you feel around Tatum? Like, when she walks into a room, how do you feel?”

Zack’s already married, and Tyler would be critical of his marriage, but his brother is in love, like, super in love, so he gets it. Kind of. “Happy. Kind of like nothing else matters. You ever hear Take My Breath Away? Berlin?”

“Everyone has.”

“That song runs through my head multiple times a day whenever I see her. She, literally, takes my breath away. I could be having the worst day ever, but she could walk in and smile at me, and everything wrong with the world just stops mattering.”

“When did that feeling start?”

“Before I even talked to her. She walked into English on the first day of sophomore year, and I looked at her and in my head, I said, “That's the girl I’m going to marry.” Does this ‘Josh’ guy make you feel like that?”

“I met him on a fire escape. When I saw him, my first thought was, “Oh no,” because he’s so hot. Like, I just  _ wanted  _ him however I could get him. Sometimes when I look at him I feel like someone punched me in the gut and it makes me want to tackle him into a hug and kiss him forever. He also makes me feel so  _ loved  _ and  _ appreciated,  _ and he’s one of the first people who… Well, he’s the first person I’ve met who I don’t think takes me for granted.”

“I think you should go for it. If you dick around and lose him, I’m going to literally fight you.”

 

Josh gets an email from Tyler containing an .mp4 file named “spank bank” on Wednesday, his birthday, simply saying,  _ “Happy birthday, Josh. You’re welcome. (This beats a lousy card, right?)” _

Josh is taking the day of his birthday off from work, meaning he’s sitting at his desk in his bedroom, on his laptop, when he gets the email. It’s early, really early, so he figures that Tyler sent it before going to work.

He downloads the video, and, honestly, the anticipation is killing him. What exactly could a video titled “spank bank”  _ be?  _ Is it a joke? Is it something so hot that it’s going to make Josh bust that  _ sweet nut  _ within a minute? He has no idea.

He opens the video, pauses it before it starts, and ends up cocking a brow when he sees that it's twenty minutes long. He plugs in a pair of headphones, and puts them on before he presses play.

_ “Um. Okay. I don’t, uh, record videos like this usually. Well, ever, actually. I just… Wanted to do something special. Not that this is overly special. In fact, it’s kind of… typical. Bland, maybe. Um. Alright. I’m gonna stop talking before I embarrass myself further.”  _

Josh pauses the video and picks his phone up from where it rests next to his laptop to send the following to Tyler via text:  _ “I’m watching the video. Idk what happens but you’re not embarrassing in the slightest.” _

He turns the screen off, puts it back down, and unpauses it. He figures Tyler has a tripod or something, given the height, angle, and stability of the video. Tyler scoots back on his bed, and peels his shirt off.

Josh admires his minimal muscle tone, and the way his breasts look once he’s sitting up straight again, avoiding looking into the camera. Josh pauses the video, and takes a second to stare. Tyler’s dark nipples are rock solid, and Josh really wishes he could just  _ touch  _ the man on his screen right now.  _ This is why I don’t watch porn or ask him for nudes. I’m too affectionate. _

Josh unpauses the video, and lets out a bit of a breath when the on-screen version of Tyler is sliding his hands up his body starting at his hips, and Josh bites his lip when Tyler's cupping his own breasts, and when the man is pinching and pulling at either of his nipples, Josh has to pause the video to send Tyler another text.

_ “Watching you play with your tits is so incredibly hot to me that I don’t even have the words to describe it.” _

On-screen Tyler spends a few minutes pinching his nipples and basically massaging his own breasts, before one of his hands drops down until it’s between his legs, rubbing himself through the sweatpants.  _ “I really wish it was you touching me, making me feel dirty.” _

_ Me too, kitten, me too.  _ Josh squeezes his own thigh when Tyler unbuttons his jeans, and unzips them. Tyler leans back, and holds himself up with his right arm, and Josh realizes that he’s probably left handed, since it’s his left hand that he’s slipping into his underwear. Josh watches in awe as Tyler touches himself, watches in awe at the way the twenty year old squirms and lets out the cutest little gasps, and at the way the gasps get a little louder and a little more frequent when Tyler’s on his back completely a few minutes later, playing with one of his nipples with his right hand. It’s so fucking hot.

Josh finds himself stroking his own cock through his sweatpants as the video progresses, and he almost chokes on his spit when Tyler slides his jeans off, and gets onto his knees, upper body pressed into the mattress, just so he can show his ass off. On the back of the underwear, or panties, actually--on the back of the  _ panties  _ he’s wearing, the words,  _ “Daddy’s Little Kitten”  _ are printed, and Josh has to pause the video just so he can text Tyler, saying,  _ “Assuming you’re coming over tonight, I am so going to ruin you. Holy shit. I’m not even half way through the video yet.” _

Josh composes himself, and goes back to watching the video. His composure lasts for about twenty seconds though, because Tyler slowly slides the panties off of himself, flinging them to a different part of his bedroom, and Josh catches the gleam of a glass butt plug, and he just about loses it. The boy’s hand reaches behind himself to pull the plug out, and Josh knows how Tyler is, knows that if it were him sitting there instead of that camera, that Tyler would be pulling the plug out  _ just  _ to tease him, just to show him how much he can take.

If Josh knew Tyler was into anal, he would’ve jumped on that train so long ago. Listening to the way he moans when he’s sliding the plug back in is almost enough to drive him  _ crazy.  _ Tyler rubs at his clit, and, okay, the way his eyes flutter shut, and the way his mouth drops open a bit is so fucking provocative and  _ hot  _ and Josh really,  _ really  _ wants to  _ ruin  _ this boy in every way that he can.

Josh’s jaw drops open and he lets out a quiet little whimper when he sees the  _ thing  _ Tyler had reached for, out of frame. It’s a vibrator. He knows exactly what it is--hell, he owns a few himself, and he’s pretty sure he has the same one Tyler has, but in a different color. (Whereas he went for a tasteful  _ peach  _ color, Tyler went for purple.)

Tyler rolls onto his back, and makes sure his body is in the center of the frame before he does anything. Josh bites his lip and  _ finally  _ gives into the urge to put his hand into his pants as he watches Tyler squirt a bit of lube onto his fingers. He goes slow, he starts with one finger, dipping it into himself and sighing just a bit, mumbling a quiet,  _ “I like it better when you do it. Your fingers are so big. I get so wet just thinking about it.”  _ Tyler throws his head back, gently, and dips a second finger into himself.

Josh has his pants pulled down to the middle of his thighs, and he’s stroking his cock. Not too fast, though. Just enough to give him some sort of  _ relief.  _ When Tyler’s fucking himself, hard, with three fingers, the fingers of his other hand rapidly moving over his clit as he writhes and moans a medley of Josh’s name and ‘Daddy’ over and over, Josh’s hand is moving faster over his own cock. 

He’s slept with Tyler enough, and he’s gotten him off enough that he knows how the boy acts when he’s about to cum. He knows that Tyler’s thighs tense up, over and over, and that his toes start wiggling, and he knows that Tyler always arches his back, throws his head back, and starts letting out high pitched,  _ “Oh, oh, oh,”  _ sounds, and, honestly, Josh is about to let himself cum when he notices the way Tyler’s acting in the video, but then Tyler’s hands are flying away from himself, and it’s, like, one of the hottest things ever.

He has to wonder why he’s never thought to try intentionally edging Tyler before. Tyler lies on the bed, panting, and squirming slightly. He opens his eyes again once his breathing has returned to a normal pace, and he looks at the camera, before using two of his fingers to spread himself open. Josh can see how  _ wet  _ he is, even if most of it is just the lube, and, god, he really wants to be between Tyler’s legs right now, licking and sucking at his, like, everything.  _ “This is how wet you’re making me, Daddy. I keep thinking about your cock fucking my tight little cunt, and it gets me so, so wet. I wish you were here right now because I want to bend over and let you have your way with me. Fuck.” _

_ Pause.  _ Josh grabs his phone again.  _ “I’m going to fuck you into next week, kitten.” _

_ Unpause.  _ Tyler’s smirking at the camera, then he’s reaching for the vibrator again. It’s big, and Josh is left in awe, just a little bit, at how Tyler’s cunt just basically swallows the vibrator without a problem. It’s off--Josh would’ve heard the buzzing if it wasn’t--and Tyler’s squeezing around it, biting his lips, and whining.  _ “I’m so desperate for you. It’s so big, but you’re bigger. I can’t take care of myself like you can. It’s just not the same.” _

Tyler starts pumping the vibrator in and out of himself, slowly, rubbing at his clit as he does so, and moaning in the most beautiful way. Josh really wishes Tyler were in  _ his  _ bed right now, under  _ his  _ hands, and he wishes that  _ he  _ was the one drawing those noises from the boy. (Josh knows that, in a way, he sort of is, but still.) 

Josh is almost too busy being enthralled in the way Tyler’s fucking himself, alternating between the intensity levels of the vibrations, the way he’s moaning, the way he’s all but weeping, the way he’s  _ teasing  _ himself, the way his body jerks and moves and bounces, the way he scrabbles at his sheets as he’s cumming unexpectedly--Josh is almost too busy being enthralled in all of that to even touch himself.

Almost being the key word, of course. Josh sits in his desk chair, head tilted back, a fresh load drying on his belly, trying to wrap his head around whatever the hell it is he just watched. He feels as if he got a glimpse of heaven; as if God gave him a video camera, and said, “Have at it, Son.”

Josh vaguely catches the,  _ “Happy birthday,”  _ Tyler says to his camera, and the kiss he blows towards it too before he’s ending it, and, god damn it, Josh wants there to be  _ more.  _ He wants to watch  _ more  _ of this beautiful creature--the holiest thing he’s ever seen--he just--he wants  _ more. More more more. _

 

Tyler’s on his lunch break when he starts getting texts from Josh. He grins and cackles at them for the most part, but the last one he gets makes him blush and smile like an idiot.  _ “You’re ethereal. Like, in a dictionary, next to the words, holy, divine, beautiful, gorgeous, amazing, hot, sexy, fantastic, and lovely, your face would be there. I think the teenagers would describe me as feeling ‘shook.’” _

 

Josh can’t help the grin on his face when he answers his door that evening to see Tyler standing there with a card, a four pack of cupcakes, his overnight bag, and a bottle of champagne. “Where’d you get the champagne?”

“Had someone buy it for me,” Tyler says simply as he follows Josh into his apartment. “No party?”

“Nope. Brendon had to conveniently be out of town, and my family isn’t doing anything for me until this weekend. Today has just been my day to relax and do whatever I want.”

“That sounds like a good birthday.” Tyler smiles softly. “What’s it like being one year closer to death?”

“About the same. I just have to change my description on, like, ten thousand different sites to say twenty eight instead of twenty seven, though. And I should probably respond to all of the people on Facebook who are wishing me happy birthday.”

“Awesome, awesome. How come you’re so… not into celebrating your birthday? Everyone always has a reason.” Tyler’s currently sitting on Josh’s couch, taking his shoes off, since he went there straight from work.

“I’ve had enough bad birthdays that I just… don’t want to deal. Also, everyone always makes a big deal out of birthdays. Like, cool, I’m alive. We get it. It’s been like this for twenty eight years already.”

“I get that, I guess. I’m usually grateful whenever anyone celebrates my birthday, since I have three siblings who share it with me. I mean, I’m in a position to where I’m  _ lucky  _ if  _ my  _ birthday, specifically, is celebrated.” Tyler shrugs. His shoes are off by now, as are his socks. He grabs one of Josh’s t-shirts from a laundry basket, and sets it next to him as he starts unbuttoning his own shirt.

“I’m not trying to say I’m not grateful, because it’s still touching that people would go out of their way for me, but… I don’t know. I probably sound like a huge asshole now. Anyways, enough of that. How was your day?”

“I had a shit day at work.” Tyler sighs, and struggles to get the cuffs on his shirt unbuttoned. Josh ends up helping him.

“How was it shit?”

“I work at a Walmart, right now, at least. That’s saying enough in and of itself. Dealt with a bunch of shitty customers, then this one lady who was being so shitty in particular. It’s June, it’s hot, it’s sunny, and I don’t get sunburns  _ ever.”  _

Josh nods, and Tyler waits to continue until after he has his chest binder off, and until after he’s put on one of Josh’s shirts.

“I’m biracial, and when I get a tan, it gets hard for me to pass for white, y’know? I’m not going to get into it, because I’m just going to piss myself off further, but just… take that into consideration. God, sorry. I’m ruining everything.”

“You’re not ruining  _ anything,  _ kitten.” Josh smiles a little bit, and Tyler lets himself melt into Josh’s side when he finds himself being tugged over.

“I wish I could fast forward past this part of my life. I want to be in my late twenties where I have my shit figured out, and where I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing with my life, rather than bending over backwards for some big corporation that doesn’t give a shit about me just so I can make ends meet.”

“You’ll get there one day, Tyler.” Josh squeezes Tyler’s shoulder, gently, and Tyler squeezes Josh’s thigh just a little bit. 

“I know, I know. I’m just impatient.” Tyler sighs. “How was your day?”

“It’s been good so far. Got off a few times this morning, and I’ve had my ass parked on this couch, watching Glee, because I have nothing better to do.”

“Which season?”

“Just started season three again.”

“I think that’s my favorite season. Either that or season one. I like the songs in those two seasons better. Also, like… Finchel. I think Finn and Rachel are the only straight couple I really even like.”

“If Darren Criss didn’t look like a twelve year old, I’d probably be all over him. He’s cute.”

“I mean, he’s in his twenties.  _ Technically  _ you could go for it. It’s a shame he plays a sixteen year old.” Tyler sighs, sarcastically wistful, and adjusts his position to where his head is in Josh’s lap, and his legs are dangling off the arm of the couch. “Can I watch Glee with you? I haven’t touched that show in a while. I kinda miss it.”

“Watching Glee, drinking champagne, eating cupcakes, and spending my evening with you is probably the best way I could spend my birthday. I’m down.”

“Stop being gay for me, and start playing the damn show.” Tyler rolls his eyes, and smiles up at Josh gently.

 

“Baby boy, what are you doing?” Josh asks, a soft smile on his face, later in the evening, after the two men have shared a few cupcakes and a few glasses of champagne. Tyler had been sliding into Josh’s lap when the man had asked that.

Tyler shrugs, and kisses Josh on the lips for a few seconds.  “Kinda just want to fool around a bit.”

“Just a bit?” Josh raises an eyebrow as his hands make themselves at home on Tyler’s thighs.

“Well, it  _ is  _ your birthday. I was sort of hoping it’d be more than just a bit.” In a more sarcastically whimsical tone, Tyler adds, “I  _ was  _ hoping you’d rip all my clothes off, throw me onto your bed, and fuck me senseless.”

Josh chuckles and kisses Tyler. “It’s my birthday, yet I have to do all the work?”

“Have you seen me, Josh? I’m, like, irresistible. Also—” Tyler grabs the hem of his shirt, and peels said article of clothing from his body, “--there’s this.”

As expected, Josh’s eyes immediately gravitate towards Tyler’s chest, and he stares, slightly slack jawed. “I think that no matter how many times I see you shirtless, I’m never going to get over how hot you are.”

“I think you’re weird for finding my chest area hot.” Tyler places one of his hands on Josh’s cheek, and brushes his thumb along the man’s cheekbone.

“I like your chest area.” As if to prove his point, Josh moves his hands up Tyler’s body, up until he can cup the man’s breasts. “They fit perfectly in my hands.”

“Again, you’re weird.” Tyler smiles and moves his hand from Josh's cheek to his shoulder.

“Anything about  _ me _ that you like?” Josh wiggles his eyebrows.

“Of course. There’s a lot of things about you that I like.”

“Like what?”

Tyler huffs and starts at Josh’s head. “Your hair. It’s really pretty, and it’s fun to grab. Your eyes. They’re also pretty, and they’re cute. I love your nose. I  _ really  _ love your nose.” Tyler kisses Josh’s nose.

“Really? It’s kinda… big, and gross.” Josh’s scrunches his nose up at that and Tyler wants to ‘aww’ at the way the man’s cheeks are red.

“It’s big but it’s not gross. I have a thing for noses.” He shrugs. “I like your mouth. You’ve got an awesome smile, and, I’ll be honest--your mouth is good at plenty of other things than smiling.” Tyler kisses Josh for the millionth time. “I like your tattoos, especially the  _ mom  _ one. I think it’s adorable that you have a mom tattoo.”

“What about my sleeve? I’ve spent way too much money on it for you to ignore.”

“I love it, man. It looks fucking awesome. You know what else I love? Your hands.” Tyler takes Josh’s hands in his. “They’re all big and manly. I love how they feel in my hair,” Tyler starts, scooting forward even more, hands still holding Josh’s, “how they feel on my chest,” he’s grabbing Josh’s wrists, and moving his hands to where they’re cupping his breasts again, and they kiss each other for a minute or two, Josh basically groping him, and Tyler eating it up; “and on my hips, especially when you’re fucking me,” Tyler, as expected, grabs Josh’s wrists again and guides them to his hips.

“What else?” Josh is smirking, waiting for Tyler to continue. He’s curious as to where this is going to go.

"Well…"


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im pretty sure after THIS wip that will most likely not get finished, this fic is gonna be the second longest fic in the joshler tag  
> yikes  
> sorry to anyone who actually finishes their fics oops  
> also theres formatting issues in this bc 1 im not gonna finish it so i didnt bother with it and 2 yeah

Dallon meets his soulmate on a sidewalk in Seattle. It's raining, and he  _ was _ on his way to a certain shop downtown to buy himself a new jacket since the one he'd been wearing for the past three years had finally torn, when he sees this  _ guy  _ drop something and not notice. He picks the item up, saying, "Hey, dude, hold up--you dropped this."

The guy whips around, eyes wide, and Dallon thinks to himself,  _ "This is it--he's probably the one,"  _ and his suspicions are confirmed when the guy is whispering, "Sign language, please," in one of the quietest and softest tones he's ever heard.

_ "Um, alright, yeah. I'm fluent. I, uh, started learning it at a young age since this has been on my wrist. Uh. That's--that's irrelevant. Sorry."  _ They're both kind of in the way of everyone else walking on the sidewalk, but it doesn't seem to matter until someone bumps into the smaller male standing in front of him, which causes him to fall on his ass, eyes wide, and, honestly, afraid.

Dallon holds a hand out to him, and hauls him up and off the ground after he takes hold of the hand with a surprisingly firm grip. His gloves are leather, clinging to his hand as if it were a second skin.  _ "Are you alright? You look like someone just murdered your family." _

_ "Too much to explain in one sitting."  _ His hands are shaking as he signs that and his face is still looking shocked and mortified.

_ "Can I touch you?" _

_ "I'd prefer if you didn't." _

_ "Okay. Thank you for being honest. Um. Do you want to go find a restaurant to sit in or something...? Would that be alright with you?" _

He nods a little bit, and Dallon leads the way. "There's a place near here that I go to a lot whenever I'm in this part of town. It's nothing too fancy, just a shitty burger joint."

"Vegan." Dallon barely hears this.

"You're vegan?"

He catches the nod.

"They have vegan options. Tofu burgers and all that jazz. There's other stuff, like salad and fruity things. Smoothies too. Uh. What's your name?"

The guy spells out,  _ "B-R-E-N-D-O-N U-R-I-E,"  _ slow enough for Dallon to catch it.

"Brendon Urie?"

_ Nod. _

"Dallon Weekes, at your service,  _ sir." _

Brendon smiles a little bit, and tentatively holds Dallon's hand, gripping it just a little too tightly. It's not as if Dallon is about to complain, because he figures that Brendon has good reasoning for holding his hand too tight. Also, like, they're soulmates apparently, and given that Dallon's an alpha and that he's naturally a caring and nurturing person, he's  _ definitely  _ not going to say anything.

He can't tell whether or not Brendon's an omega or a beta. He smells kind of like a beta, but the way he's acting makes Dallon question that. Suppressants have a way of tricking people, but Dallon's always had a certain sensitivity to pheromones.

They walk into the small restaurant, and Dallon does Brendon a favor by translating his sign language to the waiter once the guy finally comes around to take their order. Dallon, himself, orders a grilled cheese and a small cup of coffee, whereas Brendon orders a strawberry banana smoothie and a fruit salad.

While they wait for their orders to be filled, Brendon explains something small.  _ "I have selective mutism. It's why I use sign language. Can't really talk, usually. This is a special occasion though, Like, when I used my voice those few times." _

_ "Makes sense. I'm not mute obviously. I'm kind of a chatterbox when it comes down to it. There's been many occasions where my parents and my friends have told me to shut up." _

_ "I like hearing people talk. I don't think I'd ever tell you to shut up." _

_ "Can I ask if you're a beta or an omega...? I can't really tell. Your pheromones are weird." _

Brendon makes an 'o' shape with his hand, and Dallon nods, definitely understanding what he means by the 'o' shape.  _ "You're an alpha, I'm assuming. You kind of reek with that scent." _

_ "You smell like fear and apprehension." _

_ "Really?" _

_ "Yes." _

_ "Didn't think I was being that obvious. Ugh." _

_ "You really aren't, but I'm, like, hypersensitive when it comes to pheromones." _

_ "Ah. How old are you?" _

_ "Twenty three. How about you?" _

_ "Eighteen." _

_ "Barely legal. My parents are going to be proud."  _ Dallon rolls his eyes and smiles.

_ "Wait, really? They'd be proud about that?" _

_ "I was being sarcastic." _

_ "Oh! Um, I have trouble getting a grasp on sarcasm. Haven't had a lot of experience with it, so it goes over my head for the most part." _

_ "That's chill. Would you prefer if I wasn't sarcastic...?" _

_ "You can be sarcastic, but, uh, don't deadpan. Deadpan humor is the kind of sarcasm I don't get specifically."  _ Brendon breaks eye contact and shrugs.  _ "Probably worth noting, but I'm a sophomore in high school. Had some problems in middle school and got held back a few times." _

_ "That's also chill. I get the 'having problems' part, trust me. I probably didn't have it as bad as you did, but I get it." _

_ "You're really nice. Why's that?" _

_ "We're probably going to be together until one of us dies, I'm assuming, and considering that I'm an alpha, I'm kind of prone to being a nurturing kind of person." _

_ "I didn't know alphas could be like that. The ones I've met have been dicks." _

_ "I was raised to be like this. I mean, I'm still possessive and all that, but I'm not some freaky manipulative and controlling fuck." _

_ "Uh. Do we have to be in a relationship right off the bat...?" _

_ "Oh! No! Definitely not. I'm not expecting that from you. I think getting to know each other first would be a smart choice rather than just suddenly being boyfriends or whatever. I mean, we met like ten minutes ago." _

Brendon laughs silently, and nods.

***

Dallon and Brendon exchange phone numbers, and, unfortunately, don't get a chance to physically see each other for a month or two. Brendon doesn't say anything to his mom about meeting  _ the one,  _ but he tells the, like, two people at his school that actually talk to him, or that at least know sign language, a few days after it happens.

He waits until the teacher in the special education classroom walks out to say anything. (He hates that class with every fiber of his being, but, for some reason, he's required to be in it. Probably since he, literally, screams if someone so much as touches him. Okay, not screams, but he freaks out, basically. That's what he calls it. He had one too many incidents in his regular classes, and his guidance counselor didn't give him a choice when putting him into this class.)

Brendon uses the tip of his pencil to poke Tyler in the arm. Tyler's deaf, and Brendon thinks it's kind of stupid that he has to be in the special education class when he can function just fine on his own, but Tyler always tells him to chill, and to let him live, since he doesn't have a choice either way.

_ "What's up, B?" _

_ "Would you believe me if I said I met  _ the one?"

Tyler's eyes widen and he flaps his hands around a bit, obviously excited, and lets out a really small noise, which is rare, since he usually can't talk or really make any noise with his vocal cords in general.  _ "Seriously? Are you serious? I need every detail about what they're like immediately." _

Brendon smiles a little stupidly, and pulls up one of Dallon's snapchats. It's a goofy one, and it's one that features one of Dallon's friends, but Brendon likes it because he looks especially cute.  _ "He's the one with blue eyes. The guy with the nose is Josh, I think. D-A-L-L-O-N, the, uh, guy, says he's nice, though. Like, one of the actually decent alphas." _

_ "Is D-A-L-L-O-N an alpha?" _

_ "Yes. He's very nice, and he's funny." _

_ "Funny is always good. He should introduce me to his friend. He's cute." _

Brendon rolls his eyes.  _ "I guess he is. He's, like... kind of old, though. I don't think he's  _ that  _ old but he's friends with D-A-L-L-O-N, so I can't assume he's in high school." _

_ "How old is D-A-L-L-O-N?" _

_ "Twenty three, but I'm also eighteen. You're sixteen. His friend looks, like, twenty maybe, to me at least, but I dunno. I'll look into it." _

_ "I'm so excited for you, dude." _

Brendon only gets to sign,  _ "Thank you,"  _ back at Tyler before the teacher is walking back into the room, commanding everyone's attention.

***

When Brendon tells his mom that he met his soulmate, it's June, even though he met Dallon late in April. She starts going off on him in Hawaiian, asking why he didn't tell her as soon as he met him, and Brendon just shrugs, quietly saying, "I knew you'd react either like this, or you'd be way too excited." He shrugs again and goes back to scrubbing a plate. (His mother likes to take advantage of his OCD, and makes him do dishes. Brendon kind of wishes she didn't make him do that, but, he needs to clean,  _ has to,  _ so he kind of doesn't mind. He has to wear latex gloves to do it, though. He once had a panic attack that lasted for three hours after touching soggy food at some point.)

"I want to meet him." She's crossing her arms, and raising her eyebrows at her son.

"Alright. When?"

"Whenever. Preferably soon."

"I'll ask him if he wants to come over for dinner sometime this week, then."

"Alright."

"Alright," Brendon says back to her pointed tone.

***

Dallon shows up dressed up nicely, and Brendon nods meaningfully at him when he opens the apartment door.  _ "You look nice." _

_ "Thank you, Brendon."  _ Dallon smiles at him politely, and steps inside.

"Shoes. Off." Brendon points to where there's a line of shoes stretching from one end of the wall towards the other. He thinks it's a little weird, but he takes his shoes off and sets them at the end of the line. While he's doing that, Brendon had, apparently, left the room, and came back with a bottle of hand sanitizer. "Hands." Aaand Dallon holds his hands out. Brendon squirts a quick dollop of the hand sanitizer into the palm of his left hand before he's leaving the room again.

_ "Why the hand sanitizer?" _

_ "I don't want anything to be dirty." _

_ "My hands were clean, though...?" _

_ "No they weren't. You probably touched the doorknob to your apartment, your keys when you locked it, the remote on your keys, the handle to your car door, your keys again, your steering wheel, your car door handle again, the remote again, the stair rail on the staircase leading up to this apartment, then the door since you knocked." _

Dallon makes a weird face.  _ "That's... really specific and detailed." _

_ "I know and I don't care. I feel better if you use the hand sanitizer and if you try to avoid touching your phone until I clean it." _

_ "You want to clean my phone?"  _ Dallon raises his eyebrows.

_ "I have Lysol wipes. I use them on my phone religiously, and my phone is fine, so I wouldn't worry. Please let me." _

_ "Okay. Um. It's in my jacket pocket...?"  _ Dallon points towards the right pocket, and Brendon reaches into it to grab his phone. Dallon notices his attire. Brendon has a hat on, a turtleneck, the leather gloves he'd been wearing when he met him, then he notices that the turtleneck is tucked into his jeans, and that he's wearing socks which go above the ankle as well. And, of course, his  _ entire  _ outfit is  _ black. _

"Brendon," Dallon says, out loud, as he follows Brendon from the line of shoes to his living room, which is where the Lysol wipes are, apparently.

He turns around, and mouths,  _ "What?"  _ at him.

"Why are you wearing all that stuff? It's June, and it's hot."

Brendon sets Dallon's phone down on the glass coffee table so he can sign.  _ "Germs. I don't want to risk them touching me. If I dress like this then I feel alright. If I wear anything else I would probably be losing my shit constantly." _

_ "Huh. Alright." _

Brendon turns back around towards the coffee table, and curses, saying,  _ "Shit.  _ Fuck. Now I have to clean the table," before he's physically cringing. He snatches Dallon's phone up, and takes the case off of it. He's very precise about wiping it off, making sure to fold the wipe into a point to avoid rubbing over any ports. He hands Dallon's phone to him after, and says, "Hold it, and don't put it down," before he gets started on scrubbing Dallon's phone case with a different wipe. Afterward, when the case is back on Dallon's phone, Brendon instructs him to sit on the couch while he cleans the coffee table.

Dallon's half expecting him to just clean the general area that his phone had been, but he wipes the entire thing down, then scrubs specifically at the spot his phone was on. "Can I put my phone in my pocket?" He asks, quietly and sort of timidly. Brendon nods.

When he's done with the table, he throws all three wipes that he'd been using into a waste bin in the living room, before sitting with his legs pulled to his chest on the opposite end of the couch from Dallon.  _ "My mom won't be home until five or six." _

"Why am I here right now, then? It's three. I left work early for this."

_ "I dunno. I wanted company, and my best friend is in Ohio visiting family. Figured you wouldn't mind...?" _

_ "I mean, I don't! God, sorry. Work was fucking terrible today. I'm not in the best mood." _

_ "It's okay." _

_ "Also, uh, I'm still on call, so there's a chance I'm going to have to leave at some point. Just--by the way." _

_ "On call? What do you do?" _

_ "I'm currently a CNA working on being an RN. The place I work at is short staffed and all of the nurses and CNAs are on call, meaning, like, if they call us or page us then we  _ have  _ to go in and help. I get overtime, though, so I don't particularly mind." _

_ "What kind of place do you work at?" _

_ "Assisted living. There's a lot of old people and disabled people there. The pay isn't the best but I couldn't get any hospitals to hire me right off the bat." _

_ "Sounds... interesting. What all do you do...?" _

_ "I help the nurses take care of the people who live there. Mostly it just includes giving them their medications and in general just helping them function like usual people. The nurses are kind of bitchy and make the CNAs do their jobs. I mean, I get it, we're assistants, but do your own fucking jobs, y'know?"  _ Dallon leaves out the part about having to help some of the old people with dementia or hip and knee problems go to the bathroom, since he assumes Brendon wouldn't enjoy hearing that news. It’s not a pretty job.

_ "Ah. What does CNA stand for?" _

_ "Certified nurses' assistant. I got, like, the certification while I was in college, after I took the required classes. Once I'm an actual nurse, and, hopefully eventually a doctor, I'm so paying off my student loans." _

_ "I'm surprised I managed to land someone who is ambitious and kind of successful as a soulmate." _

Dallon snorts and shakes his head, chuckling a little bit.  _ "If you count five dollars above minimum wage successful." _

_ "That's twenty bucks, dude. Jesus." _

_ "It's something, but the cost of living here is ridiculous." _

_ "True, true. Um, by the way--I'm sorry about being... weird about all this clean stuff. I'm having a bad day. Usually I won't force you to let me clean your phone, but I've been anxious all week since I told my mom I'd invite you over." _

"Don't worry about it. If it helps you feel safe, or whatever, then feel free to clean my phone all you want."

_ "Um. Okay, this also sounds weird, but would you be willing to wear latex gloves...? I just--I don't--I don't like bare hands touching stuff in here. Don't take it personally either. I make my mom and everyone else who comes over wear them." _

"I'm cool with that. At least I'm not allergic to latex, right?"

Brendon nods before he's getting up from the couch and walking down the hallway in the opposite direction of the door, and disappearing into a room. He comes back holding two latex gloves with a tissue, and explains that his leather gloves are probably dirty.

Dallon puts the gloves on, asking, "Better?"

_ "Much. Thank you for trying." _

_ "It's not a problem. I have to wear latex gloves at work anyways. Kind of used to them by now." _

Brendon scoots a little closer to Dallon, and with his voice  _ almost  _ a whisper, asks, "Have you brushed your teeth today?"

"Brushed before I came over."

"Can I kiss you then?"

Dallon is... shocked. Not that shocked, but his eyes widen a tiny bit, his cheeks flush, and he sputters a little bit before managing to say, "Go for it."

Brendon has to sit up straight, since he's quite a bit shorter than Dallon, before he's leaning close enough to touch the taller man's lips with his own. The kiss lasts for a few seconds, and Brendon pulls away with a grin on his face. "That was nice. Probably won't do it again for a while, but it was nice."

Dallon nods in agreement.

***

Brendon's mom likes Dallon, and Dallon, himself, is relieved. He's standing in Brendon's kitchen, sipping at a glass of water while he goes between watching Mrs. Urie cook, and watching Brendon wipe down forks with Lysol wipes at the kitchen table.

Dallon finds himself frowning when Brendon's mother leans over to whisper, "Sorry about him. He's kind of a freak when it comes to certain things."

"He's not a freak. He has a problem and needs help, but he's  _ not  _ a freak." Dallon's quick to jump to Brendon's defense, and to put his foot down. Though, given he's an alpha who is currently in a house with two omegas, it's not that surprising to him. He sees Brendon mouth,  _ "Thank you,"  _ at him when his mother isn't looking, and Dallon just nods slightly.

***

The dinner goes nicely, and late in July on one of Brendon's  _ really  _ good days, he texts Dallon, and asks him if he can go to his apartment, since he's never been, and since on that specific day he (probably) wouldn't spend eight hours cleaning the entire place.

It's one of Dallon's days off, so he agrees to it, and picks Brendon up a little early. He figures the plan is to just hang out that day, which is fine by him. They're still getting to know each other, and Dallon's still trying to get used to Brendon's...  _ stuff. _

When Brendon is in his car, he keeps his hands between his thighs, and doesn't touch anything more than necessary. He does notice that Dallon has on a pair of leather gloves, and he totally calls him out. Quietly, of course. "What's up with the gloves, copycat?"

"Oh--uh--I bought a pair after I was at your apartment. Figured it'd make things easier in the future...? Sorry if it seems lame."

"That's... actually really nice and considerate."

"Also, I already had a pretty big supply of latex gloves, given my profession, so if you, like, need a pair while you're at my apartment, I got you covered. I also bought a pretty big bottle of hand sanitizer a while back, just in case a situation like this happened."

"Is it clean...? Your apartment, I mean."

"Uh, yeah. I mean, it's not as clean as your apartment by any means, but it's not a mess. Like, I clean up after myself and I usually go through my apartment and clean it once every few weeks, but y'know." Dallon shrugs a little bit before he's turning a corner.

"I might tidy it up a bit, but, um... I just--I do that stuff to--I dunno..." Brendon's mumbling, and from the way he trailed off, Dallon figures his voice, like... quit working. He's not quite sure on how to phrase it, or how selective mutism works, but he makes a vow to work on it. Point is, though, Brendon's clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to find the words to explain what he means.

"You use cleaning to cope, right? That's how you cope. You clean. If you need to clean to feel alright then go for it. I'll only cut you off if you spend more than a few hours trying to clean my apartment."

Brendon nods. "Half an hour, at least, maybe an hour at most. Depends on how big your apartment is and how messy it is in my eyes."

"It's a three bedroom, two bath apartment. It's small, though. Like the rooms are barely big enough to fit a full sized bed and maybe a desk in. I use one of them for... storage, then one is my room. The kitchen is tiny and the living room is kinda big but... it's kind of barren. Shit, sorry. I talk too much."

Brendon shakes his head. "You don't. You're alright."

***

Dallon watches Brendon organize his living room, kitchen, dining room, and the hall bathroom. He spends an hour doing that before he's satisfied, and sitting down on Dallon's couch, with his knees pulled to his chest, similar to how he was at his own home. Dallon had been over a few more times since then, but he usually didn't stay for more than a few hours at a time.

As if on instinct, Dallon's asking, "Do you need anything to drink or eat?" Outwardly, it looks as if he's being courteous, but internally he's worrying a little bit and wanting to be  _ sure  _ Brendon's alright.

_ "No thanks. I ate before I left home." _

"Do you need anything else?"

_ "Dude, I'm fine. Sit down and play something on the TV." _

Dallon picks a random TV show from his recently watched list on Netflix, and fixes the volume to where it's loud enough to hear but not loud enough to deafen them, and, also, quiet enough to where Dallon can talk and Brendon can hear him properly. "Why'd you want to come over?"

Brendon shrugs.  _ "To hang out, mostly. I was also kind of curious about what your apartment was like. It smells like you. Pheromones and stuff." _

"Is that good or bad...?" Dallon quirks a brow.

_ "I always thought the smell of an alpha this intense would make me want to hurl, but, honestly, it's fine. You know how houses always have a distinct scent no matter what you do? It's like that, but you. I feel safe, and not like I need to run or something." _

"I don't really, like, personally understand that, but I get what you mean. I kinda feel that way when I'm around my mom. Like, I mean, she's my mom for one thing, but I associate her specific scent to being safe, so whenever I have life problems, I usually just show up at her house and hang around for a few days until I'm cool."

Brendon nods.  _ "Same with my mom. I mean, she can be kind of a bitch sometimes, but y'know." _

"How so?"

_ "That one comment she made about me being a freak when you came over the first time. She says stuff like that a lot because of how I am. I mean, she tries, but she's, like, embarrassed I guess. She doesn't get it because she's normal." _

Dallon nods this time. "I can get the parents not understanding thing. When I was in high school, I had some  _ wicked  _ depression going on, and my parents weren't the best at handling it."

_ "When's the last time you showered and brushed your teeth?" _

"Showered when I got up this morning, and brushed at the same time."

Brendon frowns a little bit.  _ "Kind of wanted to kiss you." _

"Do you want me to go shower and brush my teeth again...?"

_ "Um, you don't have to. Sorry. I shower, brush, and floss three times a day. Can I try kissing you anyways?" _

"If you want, just as long as you're comfortable."

_ "I'm having a good day, and I want to try to get to a point to where I can touch you without freaking out. I, uh... Have I told you I have haptephobia? Fear of being touched. Genophobia as well. That one is, uh... Google will tell you it's fear of being touched, like... sexually. I'm really weird." _

"That's not weird, man. I mean, okay, it kind of is, but shit happens, I suppose."

_ "Also, uh, the me wanting to get to that point of not freaking out isn't out of nowhere. My therapist suggested, like, focusing on that stuff more after I met you. And now I've met you." _

"I get what you mean. I'm willing to do whatever I can to help you, alright? Like... say the word and I'm yours, basically."

Brendon snorts and silently giggles.  _ "You're kinda goofy." _

"Part of my charm, man."

Brendon cracks a half grin before he's putting his legs down, feet barely touching the floor, and scooting towards Dallon a little bit. Dallon watches him with something akin to curiosity. He doesn't make any moves himself, wanting anything that happens to be on Brendon's terms, despite the underlying urge he has to make a move himself.

Dallon's wearing his own pair of leather gloves, out of courtesy to Brendon. Brendon, obviously, is wearing his, and Dallon thinks that both of those facts are the only reason Brendon's grabbing his hand right now.

The second ever kiss he gets from Brendon is a little longer and a little  _ deeper.  _ Dallon's half tempted to chase after Brendon's lips when he pulls away, but he doesn't. He opens his eyes again, though, and bites his lip, praying Brendon's alright when he sees the slightly perplexed look on his face. Brendon lets go of his hand so he can sign.  _ "That wasn't as scary as I thought it'd be. Where do you keep cloths at...? I--I want to wash my lips off. Please don't be offended." _

"No, no, don't worry about it. Uh, I keep them on the middle shelf in the hall closet. They're hard to miss."

Brendon mouths, "Thank you," as he gets up.

***

Dallon takes Brendon home about two hours before his mother is supposed to be home. A question pops into Dallon's head when Brendon lets him into the apartment with him. "How do you and your mom, like, survive here? You're both omegas, and you know how alphas usually are."

_ "We've had a few incidents but we're usually okay. Some alphas think they need to take on the responsibility of being the head of our household."  _ Brendon rolls his eyes a little bit and points towards the shoes.  _ "We're also both on suppressants so, um, heats usually aren't a huge problem. You ever notice how there's a lot of locks on our doors and how there's the gate type things over the windows?" _

"Jesus, man." Dallon makes a face. "Kind of glad I'm an alpha now. Don't have to worry about that shit."

Brendon raises his eyebrows.  _ "You kind of have to, dude. Worry, I mean." _

"You know what I mean. Uh--do you want me to leave?"

_ "I pointed towards the shoes. I want to hang out with you more, but in the comfort of my own home." _

_ "Oh!  _ Alright. I got you."

***

"Can I meet him?"

"Meet who?" Dallon's genuinely confused, mostly since he's tired, and still having his morning cup of coffee from Starbucks as he walks through the assisted living center he works at. Josh, his loving friend who normally has terrible timing, is tailing him, eyes wide, bright, and excited.

" _ Him.  _ Your mate. You always talk about how great he is, and I want to meet him. I'm curious."

"Maybe. I don't know. He's kind of overwhelming if you don't know him," Dallon trails off near the end of that, since he's rooting through a pen cup on someone's desk for a black pen to use later when he's doing his morning rounds around the facility.

"How so? Is he obnoxious?"

"Not really, honestly. Like, he can be, I guess, but it's more like he has almost crippling OCD, and you'd have to bend over backwards before he'd let you anywhere near him. Also, you're an alpha, he's an omega, and he's wary around alphas, besides me."

"So? He sounds interesting. I mean, I have social anxiety--"

"But you don't start screaming out of reflex if someone so much as touches you, even on accident. He's--he's mute most of the time, too. Do you even know sign language?"

Josh bears his wrist to Dallon for the first time.  _ 'I'm deaf,'  _ are the first words his own soulmate is going to say to him whenever they meet each other, apparently. "Of course I do. Man, you're so protective over him. Although it's  _ sweet,  _ I hope I'm not as intense."

Dallon squints, and mutters, "Fuck off," before he and Josh have to go separate ways, since they work in different parts of the facility.

***

**Brendon:** I missed my bus going home because I was having a bit of a fit.

**Brendon:** By fit, I mean that someone spilled something on me, and I spent fifteen precious minutes scrubbing my shirt.

**Dallon:** Do you need a ride home?

**Brendon:** :( Yeah. Would you be willing to drive one of my friends home too?

**Dallon:** Sure. I have one of my friends with me, though

**Brendon:** Are they nice

**Dallon:** It's Josh. You've seen pictures of him, right?

**Brendon:** You got me added on Snapchat. By the way, the friend that I have with me saw one picture of Josh and has a crush on him. It's been four months and he still asks me if he can meet him smh.

**Dallon:** Today's his lucky day. What school do you go to?

**Brendon:** Capitol

**Brendon:** I'll see you!

***

"Dude, you always have either great timing when you want something, or horrible timing." Dallon sighs as he turns his phone screen off. He knows where Brendon's school is, since it's the one he went to however long ago.

"What do you mean?"

"He needs a ride home from school, and his school is closer to here than your apartment."

_ "School?" _

"He's eighteen. Calm down."

***

When Brendon puts his phone back into his pocket, he gently taps his knuckles onto Tyler's shoulder, as to not startle him. Unfortunately, he still jumps, but mouths,  _ "What?" _

_ "He said he could give us both rides. Also, Josh is with him." _

_ "Cute Snapchat guy?" _

_ "Yep." _

_ "I'm getting laid tonight, man." _

Brendon puts his hand on his forehead.  _ "I hate you sometimes." _

_ "Luckily I love you." _

And now Brendon rolls his eyes.

***

"Which one is he?" Josh whispers as Brendon and his friend are walking over.

"The one with the gloves. Don't touch him," Dallon mutters back.

Brendon offers Dallon a small smile and half-second peck on the cheek. Dallon smiles stupidly, but his face sobers up when Josh is greeting Brendon's friend. Well, not sobers up, but more like his attention is drawn from his... Not boyfriend quite yet. "Hey, man. I like your jacket."

Brendon's friend frowns a little bit, and sighs.

Dallon catches Brendon's wide eyes, and wants to laugh at his tone when he quietly says, "Oh my god, he's about to  _ talk." _

"I'm deaf." His voice is a little too loud, and Dallon has a little trouble understanding him, but when the words click in his head,  _ he's  _ mumbling, "Oh my god."

Neither Brendon nor Dallon have ever had the chance to witness two soulmates meeting each other, but either of their hearts are swelling when Josh is yanking Tyler forward by his jacket, and  _ hugging him. _

Brendon laughs when Tyler's spelling out,  _ "W-H-A-T T-H-E F-U-C-K?"  _ without returning the hug.

_ "He said, 'Hey, man, I like your jacket,' you doofus. Fucking hug him, oh my god." _

Dallon turns towards Brendon to say, "This is fucking adorable."

Brendon nods, grinning widely.

The ride from the school to Tyler's home, since he lives closest, is almost silent, since the newest united couple sits in the back seat, hugging each other, and crying.  _ Crying.  _ Dallon rolls his eyes a few times, and Brendon's biting his lip, trying not to laugh.

***

Brendon's therapist suggests he spend a weekend at Dallon's apartment, so that's how Dallon finds himself making sure every nook and cranny in his apartment is clean, organized, and free of clutter on a Friday afternoon that he would, usually, be spending in his underwear, watching whatever show he felt like watching.

He also spends a good hour on just his room alone. It's not  _ messy,  _ but in Brendon's eyes, Dallon figures it's atrocious. His laundry hamper was almost full, so he ends up doing a few loads of laundry, and, usually, he puts off folding his laundry and/or hanging it up for as long as possible, but he doesn't dick around with it this time.

He also has to go through his room and put any and all sex toys, lubricants, and condoms into a specific location to where Bendon, presumably, wouldn't be able to easily see or find any of them. (It's not as if Dallon's some sort of sex fiend, but more like his libido increases ridiculously whenever he's in a rut.) (Everything considered sexual or used to... aid the act of sex gets put into a box that's kept at the back of the shelf and all the way to the left side in his closet.)

Brendon, as expected,  _ does  _ go through Dallon's apartment, despite Dallon deeming it clean. He doesn't spend more than an hour cleaning it himself, but Dallon's still slightly overwhelmed, and a little more overwhelmed when Brendon's shooing him into his bathroom, telling him that he  _ has  _ to take a shower and brush his teeth.

Dallon doesn't protest, genuinely just wanting to do anything to both appease Brendon and anything to make sure he's comfortable and stress free. When he's done in the shower and dressed in sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt, plus his leather gloves, Brendon allows him to join him in the living room so they can play a TV show, watch, like, ten minutes of it, then start getting into a deep conversation.

"My therapist gave me a list of things I should try," Brendon says quietly.

Dallon raises his eyebrows. "What's on the list?"

"Uh. A lot of stuff, honestly. It's kind of overwhelming and scary because it's... it's sort of long. Some of them require you to be involved, some of them are just things I can do on my own." Brendon plays with his fingers in his lap, making nervous eye contact with Dallon.

"Do you have the list with you?"

"Uh, no. I left it in the binder I use for school. The special education class usually doesn't get much homework, if any, or I would've brought it with me." Brendon shrugs. "Mostly it's just, like... physical contact, and trying to make that not as scary. I mean, I'm working on it, but it's difficult. One day, I want to get to a point to where I can have sex, because I don't want to die a virgin."

Dallon starts cackling. "Sex is pretty great. Hit me up whenever you're ready, and we can talk about it." Dallon also winks, and Brendon snorts, mouthing,  _ "Stop,"  _ at him with a smile.

"Back to the list. The, uh, physical contact stuff... My therapist explained that starting with small stuff would help. She also said that, like, forcing myself to actually touch people would help lessen that fear, kind of like how if someone had social anxiety, me, for example, going out and talking to people and forcing yourself to do... social things is how you, like... treat it, I suppose. Am I making sense?"

Dallon nods. "My doctor basically told me I needed to force myself to do things when my depression stuff was really bad. Like, I definitely get that. I still have days where I just want to sleep all day, and, like, die or something, but I just gotta... get up and seize the day, or whatever the hell."

"I'm kind of afraid to hold your hand."

"The last time you did, you cut off circulation to my fingers, man."

"My point." Brendon huffs and takes to signing.  _ "I clench my hands whenever I'm... stressed, I guess, meaning I tend to squeeze pretty hard whenever I have to hold someone's hand or whatever." _

_ "Wanna try...? I mean, like you said, you kinda just... gotta do it to quit being afraid, or whatever." _

Brendon bites the inside of his cheek, but takes one of his gloves off, and motions for Dallon to do the same. Dallon stares at Brendon's hand, since he hasn't ever seen him without gloves on. His hand isn't anything spectacular, but his nails are trimmed and clean, filed properly as well. Dallon's nails aren't disgusting or anything, but they aren't as neat looking as Brendon's are, since he tends to bite them.

Brendon scoots over on the couch, and takes a deep breath before he's slowly intertwining his fingers with Dallon's. Dallon gently rubs his thumb across Brendon's, and Brendon returns the gesture by rubbing his thumb across Dallon's index finger. Brendon does squeeze Dallon's hand pretty hard, but not as hard as the day they met each other.

Brendon's breathing patterns are shaky and unstable as he shifts so he can lean on Dallon's shoulder. His body is stiff, and he's not letting himself relax. Although sort of nervous, Dallon's body is relaxed, definitely a sharp contrast to Brendon's. "You okay...?"

"Nervous. Not panicky. Yet."

Dallon squeezes Brendon's hand a little bit in response. They quit talking after that, rather opting to just... watch the show on the TV at the moment. Eventually, Brendon starts to relax a little bit, Dallon can feel it, and can smell his anxiety slowly becoming less and less intense. "Are you still doing okay?" He asks, just in case.

Brendon nods. "I think it's because you smell good. Do you know if that's normal? To just, like... chill because of an alpha's scent?"

"When my dad was still alive, my mom was always really calm whenever she was in his presence, so maybe. Pretty sure, actually. I dunno. I know it's normal for an omega's scent to be calming, but I usually only hear about them being getting intimidated whenever they catch even a whiff of alpha stink."

"You don't stink, though. You smell, like,  _ really  _ nice right now." Brendon draws out the really, and sighs a little bit, and Dallon mentally squints. "Do I smell good too?"

Dallon's gentle and tries not to be too intrusive as he pushes Brendon to be in a sitting position, and as he sniffs at his neck. "You do, at least to me."

When he goes back to his original position, Brendon's scooting over again, head on Dallon's shoulder. "This really isn't as scary as I thought it'd be. I think if you were anyone else, I'd probably be freaking out right now, though. So I dunno if this counts."

"It's progress, I suppose. I'd just take what you can get, and not question it. Progress is progress, no matter how small."

Brendon does hit a limit ten or so minutes later, and gets up to go use hand sanitizer, and to wash the side of his face off. Dallon puts his own leather glove back on, and pulling his sleeve down, making sure his wrist isn't bared at all, knowing that's one of the things Brendon would get onto him about.

***

"What do you want to eat for dinner?" Dallon asks from his kitchen as he looks through his fridge. He knew he forgot something, and groceries, specifically groceries that vegans can eat, were the one thing he forgot.

"Don't really care as long as it doesn't have meat, dairy, or eggs in it."

"Okay, uh... I have... baby carrots and strawberries." Dallon looks over at Brendon, sheepishly. "I forgot to go grocery shopping."

Brendon rolls his eyes, sighing.  _ "Wanna go have grocery store adventures?" _

"What about grocery shopping is an adventure?"

Brendon shrugs.  _ "I dunno. Wanna go, though?" _

"At eight in the evening?"

_ "Why not? I need to eat sometime." _

"Alright then."

***

They don't actually end up leaving Dallon's apartment until a quarter past nine, since Brendon has to shower for the second time since he'd been at Dallon's apartment, and since he spends half an hour going through the clothes he brought with him, trying to find something fashionable that also covered every inch of his body.

Similar to every other time Brendon's in Dallon's car, he puts the seat belt on, then places his hands between his thighs, leaning forward a little bit, hunched over sort of, trying not to touch anything more than necessary. "Brendon, can I make a suggestion?"

Brendon looks over at Dallon. They're at a stop light right now, so Dallon can look at him.

"Sit up straight and lean back in the seat. It's safer, for one thing, and you said that your therapist told you to go out of your comfort zone. I mean, you don't have to, but, again, a suggestion."

Brendon bites his lip and scrunches his face up as he obeys Dallon. Or, well... It wasn't necessarily a command, but Brendon sort of feels like it was. Not that he's complaining. He's kind of learned that he  _ kind of  _ likes being told what to do. Within reason, of course, and so long as Dallon's the only one telling him what to do, otherwise he's defiant as all get-out.

"More comfortable, at all?"

Brendon shrugs, an unsure breath being let out of his mouth. "My back feels funny."

"How so?"

"Like there's some presence on it. I don't like it."

"You don't have to stay like that if it's really bugging you, man."

"I'm going to stay like this. Need to."

***

"I can't believe I managed to sit up properly in the car," Brendon's mumbling quietly as he checks himself over, making sure his outfit is alright, before he goes into a store with Dallon.

"Am I allowed to be outwardly proud of you for that?" Dallon asks, one eyebrow sorta raised.

_ "If you want, but it's just a little pathetic, honestly." _

_ "Mm, not pathetic. More like something small, and considering you've been at my apartment for a collective six hours, I'd say you're doing better than I thought you would." _

The smile Brendon gives him is shy, and Dallon's heart swells when Brendon tentatively takes his hand. "Baby steps, Dal."

"Baby steps."

***

_ "What kind of stuff do you want?"  _ Dallon signs once they're in the store. He's not sure what vegans even eat, besides, like... vegetables.

_ "Well, can we buy a can of 'not crippling OCD?'" _

_ "I wish we could, but we can't do that quite yet. I was talking about food. I, personally, eat a lot of meat and dairy stuff, so I have no idea what kind of stuff you eat." _

_ "I eat a lot of stuff, man. We could have mac-n-cheese." _

_ "That has cheese." _

_ "They make vegan cheese, vegan margarine, and vegan milk substitutes, dude. Do you want to try some dope ass vegan mac-n-cheese?" _

_ "It sounds... interesting. Are you gonna cook it?" _

Brendon nods.  _ "I cook most of my own meals. By most of, I mean almost all. The last meal I had that I didn't cook myself was when you came over that one time in June." _

_ "Gotcha." _

***

Brendon's wallet falls out of his pocket without him noticing while he's trying to decide which type of noodle he wants, and Dallon bites his cheek when an overzealous employee picks the wallet up for him, and talks slowly, enunciating a little too much. "Sir, you dropped this."

_ "Tell her I'm not deaf and that I can hear her just fine. Bitch." _

Dallon snorts. "He's not deaf, he's mute. He can hear you just fine, ma'am." Dallon takes the wallet from her, and hands it to Brendon himself. "We appreciate your effort, though."

"How come you don't talk?" Dallon asks quietly once the employee who'd picked up the wallet for them is out of earshot.

_ "I... can't? I mean, there's nothing physically wrong with my vocal cords, but my voice just quits working whenever I'm in public, or in places with a lot of people. I'm sure my best fiend being deaf doesn't help, since I can't talk to him because he won't understand me. My therapist has some lengthy explanation for it, but to sum it up, it's because I'm a very,  _ very  _ stressed out little guy." _

"Alright. Awesome. I mean, not awesome, but y'know."

Brendon rolls his eyes.  _ "Just help me pick out a pasta. Preferably one that isn't colorful." _

***

Dallon makes a provocative noise when he takes a bite of the mac-n-cheese Brendon had made. It doesn't taste like regular Kraft mac-n-cheese, but it's still delicious, and he still finds himself saying, "This is fucking awesome," around a mouthful of it.

Brendon cringes, saying, "Thanks, but don't talk with your mouth full. It's disgusting."

Dallon swallows before asking, "Why not?"

"It's gross seeing chewed up food. Why else?"

"Fair enough." Dallon shrugs, and makes a mental note to refrain from talking with his mouth full for the rest of the meal. "I didn't ask you how school went today."

Brendon shrugs. "Same as it usually does. I go to school twenty minutes before everyone else does so I don't have to deal with people in the hall, sit in the special education classroom until Tyler shows up, try not to kill the teacher for treating the class like dumb asses, then I suck it up and ride the bus home while trying not to freak out, and... yeah."

"Why are you in the special education class? You're not... like..."

"What? Stupid?"

"Not what I meant."

"I couldn't get through traveling around the school after every class, and couldn't handle sitting in a room with so many people without 'having a fit,' as my mom would like to put it, Also, I'm like... mute, and a bunch of my teachers didn't get that when I was in regular classes. The special ed teacher knows sign language and doesn't give us homework usually, so I don't, like, complain. Usually. I do complain about her acting like we're all stupid, though. Like, okay, most of the people in the class are dyslexic or autistic, there's one kid with Down's, there's me, who doesn't talk, then there's Tyler, who's deaf. I probably can't go to college since I'm not learning anything substantial, so, while you make money and basically be my sugar daddy, I will... do whatever I do on weekends, but all the time."

"You  _ could _ go to college, bro. Or take online classes instead of going to regular high school."

"Tried Connections Academy. Fucking hated it. I was  _ required  _ to talk to my teachers on the phone at least every two weeks, so that lasted about a month before I went back to regular high school. Tyler also texted me every day at least five times, begging me to come back."

"Is Tyler your only friend?" Dallon takes a sip of the glass of wine he wanted with dinner, and Brendon takes a sip of grape juice, since he's underage still. (He was in a bit of a silly mood, and insisted on having grape juice, so he could pretend he was all 'cool' and 'old' like Dallon.)

"Oh, god no. I just talk about him a lot because he's my best friend. Spencer graduates this year, unfortunately, but he's one of my other friends. Um... There's Pete, but mostly I just pass notes with him whenever I eat lunch. There's Joe, and I like him especially. He doesn't coddle me  _ at all,  _ and he's obvious about it too. Like, it's not like he touches me all the time or makes fun of me or anything, but he just treats me like a regular person, which I appreciate."

"Based on those descriptions, I like Joe the most. Aside from Tyler. Josh  _ does not  _ shut up about Tyler."

"I didn't even tell you about the others, dude."

"Then enlighten me, man."

"Okay then. I will. Spencer, like... He's cool. He knew me in middle school when the OCD stuff got really bad, so he knew me when I wasn't all weird and fucked up. He's been pretty supportive and besides Tyler, he's the only friend I ever have over. He's also the only beta I know."

"What am I, chopped liver?"

"Shut up." Brendon smiles and laughs a little bit. "You're more than a friend to me, so you don't count."

Dallon sticks his tongue out at Brendon.

"Anyways, Pete. He flips me shit a lot, but I don't mind him. He means well. He's super nice, too, and buys me stuff from the vending machines whenever I eat at school. I'm like... surprisingly alright with the vending machines. I dunno why. He acts like a big scary alpha, and before I got to know him I kind of thought he was one, but he's an omega, man."

"What about Joe?"

"Alpha. He intimidates me, but he's just, like... chill. Kind of like you. Except you're more chill. He's a few years younger than me, too."

"Your friends sound nice, to be honest."

"What about yours? I only ever hear about Josh."

"Mm... I dunno. He's kind of my only friend. After high school, a bunch of my friends quit talking to me. Like, I get it, but it sucked I guess. I have a few buddies at work, though. I think I like Patrick the most. He's one of the doctors there, and he has a few kids that he never shuts up about. It's so adorable. His wife is really pretty too. Then there's Breezy. She's a nurse, and, like, the love of my life. Not really, but in some alternate universe, I wouldn't be surprised if I married her or something. She's beautiful and really nice. Also, she kind of wants to meet you."

"You talk about me a lot, don't you?"

Dallon shrugs and avoids eye contact. "I kind of, like... Think you're pretty awesome."

"Seriously? I'm kind of annoying with all the... stuff."

"I don't find you annoying, though. Overwhelming sometimes, sure, but, like, believe it or not, I kind of love you, man."

"You're kind of a great person." Brendon sighs a little bit, in a good way.

"I try my best."

***

Brendon absconds with Dallon's duvet around the time he decides he's tired. He sleeps in his shirt and his gloves, still, but he swaps his jeans out for leggings and a different pair of socks. Before actually sleeping, though, he has a sleepy conversation with Dallon. They're both planning to sleep on opposite ends of the couch, with the footrests up so they don't have to touch each other.

"Hey, man, can I ask you stuff?" The younger man mumbles quietly.

Dallon yawns, and nods. It's one in the morning, and he usually goes to bed around ten. "Go for it."

"Okay, uh, like... I already ask you stuff a lot, because, um... It's not called obsessive-compulsive disorder for nothing."

"Dude, it's fine. I get it."

"What about sexual stuff? I can't imagine that you're  _ totally  _ okay with with me not wanting to do anything sexual. And what about heats and ruts? Those are probably gonna line up."

"We can just avoid each other for that specific week. Remember that one week a few weeks ago where I didn't talk to you much and I didn't let you come over? Why do you think that is?"

"Weird mood...?"

"Rut, man. My point is that they invented masturbation for a reason."

"But what if I'm here one time and that stuff, like... happens?"

"Then I'll do whatever you tell me to do, whether it's take you home, or help. And by help, I mean, like, water and food and general self-care. I'm not one of those guys who are like, 'It was my instincts! I can't help it!' I was raised better than that. Anyways, you think I've never been around an omega in heat before? I can handle myself. Do you know when you're due for one? Because we can make plans for you to not come over that specific week."

"Not for another few months."

"And that's about when I'm due for a rut."

"But what if I  _ want  _ to sleep with you?"

"Then ask, and I'll see what I can do. We'd have to be safe about it, of course, and I know you've got that one phobia, forgot what it was called, but it's up to you. Like, I'm giving you control of whatever happens between us."

"And what if I want  _ you  _ to take control? Sometimes I need others to be in charge, and I'm sure that would be one of those times."

"Tell me, then. I'll probably ask you ten thousand questions, literally, but I'm not incapable."

"What if I ever live with you? What then?"

"I don't see that happening for at least another year. You still have high school, and I live too far from Capitol for you to go there again, unless I, myself, take you to school, or unless you get rides from someone else. Most of the teenagers in this complex go to  _ West  _ Capitol, or private school. West Capitol is a shitty school, too. Like, in this area, Capitol's your best bet. Also, fuck--sorry, I talk way too much."

"You're alright. I dunno... I just... I worry too much about this kind of stuff. I really do want to get to a point to where we can comfortably, just... do things."

"Baby steps, alright? You can't magically make yourself better overnight. Like, it took me three years to even be moderately functional when it came to depression stuff. It didn't happen overnight. I had to work at it, and it wasn't easy. I'm willing to do whatever I can to help you, though." Dallon reaches out from under his blanket, palm up, and Brendon holds his hand for a few minutes before he's retracting it, and going back to cocooning himself in Dallon's duvet.

"I think a baby step I'm taking right now is using your duvet. It smells like you, so it's like an indirect way of cuddling."

"That's pretty adorable. No offense." Dallon smiles fondly, and yawns.

"Maybe next time we hang out for a weekend, you can come over to my apartment. Or, well, my mom's, since she pays the rent."

"Maybe so. It's up to you."

***

Saturday goes alright for the most part, and in the afternoon, Brendon's kind of cornering Dallon, and, with a red face, saying, "I kind of want to try making out with you."

"That's... not going to be easy, since you don't like being touched."

"I know. That's the point. You said baby steps and this is one of them. Also, I said  _ try." _

"When would you, uh...? Wanna try?"

"Like, now, but I want you to brush your teeth and floss." Brendon's pinching the material of the sock on his left foot, his other leg dangling off the couch almost haphazardly.

"Alright." Dallon gets up, and goes to the bathroom in his bedroom. He brushes his teeth, flosses, then uses mouthwash for good measure. That all takes a good ten minutes, and when he walks back out. Brendon's got both of his legs pulled to his chest, and he's looking up at Dallon, and biting his lip nervously.

"I used mouthwash too."

"Thanks. How do we, uh... do this?"

"Have you ever made out with anyone before?"

"Uh, no. The first kiss I had was in June. With you. Would sitting across from you work?"

"Not really, honestly. You could try sitting in my lap, but I can't guarantee that Dallon Junior won't make an appearance. Same goes if we tried any other positions."

"How about standing up? People do that sometimes, I'm pretty sure."

"Yeah, we could try that." Dallon smiles politely, and gets back up from the couch. "Do you want mood music?"

"Mood music?"

"Yeah. I have a CD I made for myself specifically for, uh... like, romantic and intimate stuff. Not sex, though. I hate music during sex. Makes it weird."

"What songs are on it?"

"Slow songs. A lot of classic rock, mostly ballads. I think, uh... Faithfully by Journey, and Veteran of the Psychic Wars by Blue Oyster Cult. Those are two of my favorites to make out to, honestly."

"I feel like it might be too much. I, uh, get overwhelmed easily if you haven't noticed."

"I've noticed, trust me."

Brendon gets up and stands in front of Dallon. "What do I do with my hands."

Dallon reaches down, hands hovering near Brendon's, then moving them up to rest on his shoulders once he gets a permissive nod. "Can I put my hands on your hips?"

"Maybe. Try it, I guess."

He nods, and gently places his hands on Brendon's hips. "Good or bad?"

"It's... okay. For now. Make the first move."

Dallon has to bend down a good ten inches, silently cursing omegas for being so freaking tiny. He figures his neck and upper back might be sore, but he ignores the thought, since his lips are on Brendon's, and since Brendon's standing up on his toes a little bit to reach him better, He does pull away for a second to ask, "Good or bad?"

"Good."

And he nods. Again. They spend a few minutes kissing each other, until Brendon gets tired of standing, and says he'll take the risk of a visit from Dallon Junior by sitting on his lap. Brendon sits with his groin area closer to Dallon's than the older expected, but he doesn't really complain, since he's enjoying the non-sexual intimacy. He never realizes how starved for affection he is until Brendon either kisses him, hugs him, or holds his hand, and he's definitely realizing now since there's lips on his.

Brendon's awkward, and doesn't really know what he's doing, but Dallon leads, easily taking control of the situation, hands still on Brendon's hips, holding him firmly in place. Brendon tries using tongue at some point, but that only lasts for a few seconds before he's pulling away and scrubbing at his mouth, saying, "That's going to take more time."

"It's alright. You're doing good right now." Dallon praises him, squeezing one of his hips a little bit, and grinning when Brendon has to hide his face.

"Shh. You're not allowed to make me blush."

"Why not? I meant what I said. You're doing really good, and I'm proud of you, alright? I figure this is taking a lot out of you."

"How long do you suppose we spent doing that?"

"Ten minutes, maybe."

"Do you think that's good?"

"Yes, I do."

Brendon nods, satisfied, climbing off of Dallon's lap with a grin on his face. "See? I'm getting there. Though... I'm having a good day today."

"It's alright, man. Don't sweat it."

***

Dallon takes Brendon home early Monday morning, then takes him to school once he has his things. Brendon shyly asks him to walk him to his class, since they got there a little later than he usually does, and since he kind of wants to feel protected, at least in some capacity.

Tyler's waiting for Brendon by the door, looking relieved when he finally shows up. He signs, asking Brendon for permission to hug him, and Brendon nods.  _ "Go for it. I've been having a good couple of days." _

_ "That's really good."  _ They hug for about ten seconds, then Tyler's asking,  _ "Dallon, what are you doing here?" _

_ "Brendon wanted me to walk him to his class. I'll walk him, then probably leave after that. I have to go to work in a few hours anyways." _

Dallon puts an arm over Brendon's shoulder when he asks him to, and Tyler sticks pretty close, either of them glaring at anyone who so much as looks at Brendon wrong. Dallon kisses Brendon on the forehead once the younger of the two is sat down at his seat, and he's about to leave, but Brendon's teacher stops him, asking him who he is. Brendon translates what she'd said to Tyler, who just looked confused.

Dallon holds his wrist up, and points at it, then turns away from Brendon so he can sign.  _ "He wanted me to walk him to class, and I didn't want him to be feeling bad right off the bat today. I've, uh, gotta go, though. Need to get ready for work and stuff, since I'm supposed to be an adult and all that." _

Before he walks out, Brendon grabs his hand.  _ "One more kiss. On my forehead." _

Dallon rolls his eyes and pecks his forehead, and messes his hair up.  _ "I'll see you!" _

***

Brendon's cutting up some fruit for himself when his mother gets home that evening. She takes a shower, as per Brendon's request, then sits next to him on the couch while he eats, and asks, "How was your weekend?"

"It was really good. I was able to hug him and hold his hand, and we even made out for, like, ten minutes before I had to put some distance between us. I also only showered two times on Saturday, and was able to eat one of my meals without washing my silverware off beforehand."

"I'm proud of you. That's really good, honey. Was he nice to you?"

"Of course he was." Brendon frowns a tiny bit. "He's really respectful. You've met him before. Hell, he's here almost every weekend anyways. I just--I wanted to get used to being around him."

***

Brendon sees a poster hung up on the bulletin board in the hall, saying,  _ "SHORT STORY CONTEST -- Contact Counselor Black for further information."  _ He's curious, and he's due for a visit to the guidance counselor anyways, so he steps towards the office area, waving at Ms. Orzechowski, the secretary. She's really nice and Brendon had, or still has, a tiny crush on her. She smiles at him and asks him how he's doing. He motions for a pen, since she doesn't know sign language, and since he's nonvocal this morning.

He writes,  _ "I'm doing good! Going to go talk to Ms. Black about some story contest or something. It looks interesting." _

She claps once. "You should do it. She talked to me, and told me it's something about soulmates. I think she said you have to meet yours to qualify for it, though."

_ "I met mine last April."  _ He shows her the paper, and she gasps.

"I'm happy for you! That's amazing!" She grins wide, and Brendon nods as he walks through the small hallway, knocking on the frame to the doorway to the guidance counselor's office.

Brendon shies away a little bit when she turns around in her desk chair, looking at him with eyes so fiercely blue that it, literally, freaks him out. "Brendon! Hey!" She smiles, and motions towards one of the seats.

Brendon takes his jacket off, and places it on the seat before sitting, making sure not to touch the armrests or the back of it, since so many people sit in it everyday.

"How are you doing?" She asks as she gets up to close the door.

_ "Okay. Wanted to ask about the poster on the bulletin board about a short story contest." _

"Well, there's a reward of one thousand dollars, for one thing." She sorts through her desk a little bit before handing him a sheet of paper. "Those are the instructions for it. You need your name, grade level, homeroom teacher, or just your teacher, since you don't have a homeroom, and it needs to be at least a thousand words long."

_ "How about the topic?"  _ Brendon mouths along with his sign language, since she struggles with hers a little bit.

"The company who is hosting it wants stories about people meeting their soulmates, but they kind of want it to be artsy. Not their exact words, but do you know what I mean?"

_ "Like a bunch of vague analogies about eyes and lips and stuff like that?"  _ Brendon silently chuckles a little bit.

"Yes, like that. Have you met yours yet?"

_ "I did last April." _

"That's great! What's he like?" She's doing that nosy counselor/therapist thing, and Brendon's tempted to roll his eyes. He can tolerate his therapist, but he doesn't quite trust Ms. Black enough to be overly honest with her.

_ "He's really tall and he's really nice. He's really respectful of my boundaries and stuff, and he's actually kind of helped me make a decent about of headway on learning how to cope with my stuff, and how to start to overcome a few fears and whatnot." _

"What school does he go to?"

_ "Um. He doesn't go to school. He's six years older than me. Twenty four right now. He's a CNA at an assisted living facility. He's working on getting his nursing degree right now. I think he does online classes for it, and he told me that in the future he's going to try working on being a doctor. He's an alpha and all, and he's really caring and nurturing and all that. He's gonna be a good dad one day." _

"And how do you do with... physical contact?" She quirks a brow.

_ "I do alright. I mean, objectively it's not very good, but for me, it's... progress. I can usually hold his hand without freaking out, and I can usually kiss him on the lips sometimes. Not for very long, but it's something, y'know?" _

She nods. "I'd love to talk more, but I have a few students scheduled to come here and talk about a few things. Do you need anymore clarification on the short story contest?"

Brendon shakes his head.  _ "These directions should be enough." _

***

Brendon winces when he sees Tyler with a cast on his wrist. He looks like hell, head on his desk, hands in his lap.

Brendon pokes him in the arm with his pencil before he sits down.

He signs,  _ "What happened to your wrist?" _

Tyler pulls his phone out.

**Tyler:** it's broken

**Brendon:** Yeah no shit, Sherlock.

**Brendon:** I meant how.

**Tyler:** i tripped because, surprisingly, i didn't hear my brother warn me about something that was at the top of the stairs, so i fell down them, and fucked my wrist up

**Tyler:** i am sixteen how do they forget im deaf

**Brendon:** :(

**Brendon:** I'd hug you, but y'know.

 

Tyler huffs a little bit and grins at his friend.

 

**Tyler:** i mean like my sister is deaf too so seriously you'd think they'd learn to, like, sign things rather than talk

_ "Remember when I was still getting used to the fact you were deaf?" _

 

**Tyler:** yes you would call my phone or youd call me on skype on your phone before they had webcam stuff for the mobile app and i'd have to text you like

**Tyler:** "brendon im deaf"

 

Brendon starts giggling, silently, and Tyler grins at him.

***

Brendon starts drafting his short story at one of the tables in the cafeteria. Tyler sits across from him, eating, and Pete plops down next to him with a bottle of strawberry-lime ICE. Spencer catches sight of him as well and sits next to Tyler, and talks about his latest fling. Joe shows up as well, eventually, since he tends to follow Pete almost everywhere, and since Brendon doesn't talk to him on his own, usually.

The three other teenagers talk among themselves, occasionally asking Brendon yes or no questions that he can nod or shake his head in response to. Pete tries asking Tyler stuff, and Tyler squints. "Dude, m'deaf. Can't understand you."

Pete leans over to Brendon, quietly asking, "What did he say?"

Brendon gets Spencer's attention, and asks him to translate.  _ "Tell Pete that Tyler said he's deaf and can't understand him." _

"Brendon said you need to learn sign language."

Brendon throws his pencil at Spencer, then tells Tyler what he'd said. Tyler snorts, but agrees.  _ "Quit being an asshole, Spence. Tell him what I actually said." _

"He said that Tyler said he's deaf and couldn't understand you, so either have me or Brendon translate. The last part I added on my own."

Pete makes an 'o' shape with his mouth, and hands Brendon his pencil before Spencer could steal it from him.

***

Brendon spends three hours after school about a month after his weekend at Dallon's, cleaning the apartment, since he's set to come over for dinner. His mother really just wants to get to know him more, wanting to know what kind of guy Brendon was going to get involved with eventually.

It's also the first week of November by now, meaning Holiday season is fast approaching, and that Brendon's probably going to be depending on his mother and Dallon a lot more than usual, since family gatherings are a thing, and since he's probably going to have to deal with a lot of unwanted attention from family members.

He has made even more progress, though, with being physically affectionate, but only with Dallon. He's the only person he trusts enough to experiment with, given they're kind of, like, destined to be together or some John Green-ass bullshit.

Dallon shows up around five, looking exhausted.

_ "What's wrong?" _

_ "Long day at work. Someone died this morning and I happened to be the one who was sitting with them when it happened. Kind of shaken up, I guess. I mean, I've seen a few people die before, but it's still horrible and not fun whenever it happens." _

Brendon's eyes widen.  _ "That is horrible. What the fuck, man?" _

"He was in his one-twenties," Dallon says out loud as he's taking his shoes off, and as Brendon squirts a bit of hand sanitizer into his left hand as usual. "He's been saying weird things for a while now, and I think he just gave up, I guess. He was trying to hold on as long as possible for his family, but... yeah. It happens. His wife died a few weeks ago anyways, and it's always hard when you lose your mate after a ninety some odd years of being together."

_ "Makes me scared of losing you one day,"  _ Brendon signs slowly, brows furrowing, and eyes starting to water.

Dallon sighs and gets permission before he pulls Brendon into a hug. "I'm not dying for a long time, don't you worry your pretty little head about it. At least we got long-ish lifespans, right?"

Brendon sighs as well, and holds the hug for a few more seconds before letting go and walking around the wall separating the hall and the living room so he can sit on the couch. Dallon's about to sit on the other end, but Brendon pats the spot next to him. "You can sit here."

So he does--he sits next to Brendon. Brendon tucks himself into Dallon's side, saying, "I'm glad that I'm comfortable being able to do this with you, but I wish I could be like this with everyone else."

"I don't wish you could cuddle with everyone else. I'm the alpha here."

"Hush. You know what I mean. I've been able to hug Tyler once in a while too, though. Usually I wouldn't ever touch him aside from poking his arm when I needed his attention. I also hugged my mom for the first time in five years last week. She cried."

"It's kind of weird how much can change in seven months," Dallon muses quietly.

"Not really. I mean, alright, it's such a short time frame, but I've been working on stuff with my therapist more than I was in the past, and you've been there to help when you can, and I've been working on changing my mindset and trying to work on my rationalizing skill."

"Rationalizing?"

"Yes. Like, the chances of me getting sick from touching your hand is almost zero, or trying to convince myself that, hey, sex isn't that scary, and it's a thing that people do. I've been trying to learn how to let shit go, too. I get obsessed when stuff happens."

"Honestly, I think if you actually had sex it'd help, because it really isn't that scary. Like, your first time always is, and I was hella nervous my first time, but you get used to it. Also, I'm not saying that you should have sex, but I'm just, like--okay, fuck, I'm going to shut up before I dig myself into a hole." Dallon scrubs the hand that's not on Brendon's shoulder down his face.

Brendon snorts.

"Anyways, on the obsessive thing--I kinda get that. I used to have horrible self esteem, so, like... If I did something stupid, I'd obsess over it for weeks--"

"For--"

"Shut up and don't make that fucking pun, or I'm booting you off this couch," Dallon's laughing throughout that statement, and Brendon hides his face in Dallon's chest, grinning stupidly. "Anyways, listen--my therapist told me to just let it go. I was mad about him saying that for a while, but he just said that I couldn't change what happened, or help it, and that it didn't really matter."

Brendon nods. "Uh, by the way... I'm, like, due for a... a heat sometime next week, and I've been--I've been feeling really affectionate. That's why."

"I can tell. You smell a little different than you usually do. I'm due for a rut next week as well. My body is being all weird and Dallon Junior keeps popping up at odd times, like, alright, I get it, but it's not time yet, bro."

"I was thinking... could I maybe come over...? I think I might--might be ready to, like...  _ do stuff,  _ and I'd be especially willing next week, 'cause, uh, I get desperate and shit. Both of us are gonna have that stuff happen at the same time anyways, so I dunno."

"If you want to, and if you think you're ready, I wouldn't mind having, uh, company."

"Are you cool if my opinion changes? I'm having a really good day today and my mood could change but like my gut is telling me I'm gonna be fine for once instead of being panicky."

"I'll look into buying spermicidal lube and contraceptives, then. We should talk about this in depth later, though."

***

After dinner, Brendon stands on the balcony that splits off from his bedroom, smoking a cigarette with Dallon, trying not to freeze his ass off. The balcony is the only place in the apartment they can have privacy to discuss...  _ stuff. _

"Does Capitol still give everyone time off during heats and ruts?"

"Yeah. It counts as exempt or whatever."

"And my work doesn't let anyone who's in heat or a rut to come in. Are you sure you want to come over?"

"You already told me you could control yourself, and you said I'm allowed to change my mind, even if we're in the middle of, uh, doing things. And I trust you. Also, like... I dunno. It's kind of embarrassing to be in heat with your mom in the house. I mean, I know she gets it, because, y'know, but it's so awkward, man."

"Okay, yeah, I understand that. I felt that way when I lived at home whenever I'd go into a rut. I mean, sorry if this is TMI, but I am  _ noisy.  _ Like, outside of sex stuff, I'm pretty quiet and withdrawn, but the second  _ stuff  _ happens, I'm like--you know."

"Don't worry about TMI. Tyler gives me full detail on his sex life, especially since he met Josh." Brendon rolls his eyes and takes a drag of his cigarette. "I usually just pretend nothing's happening whenever I, uh, y'know. Usually the idea of sex is disgusting to me, but I'm, like... kind of curious. Still scared out of my mind, but you get me, right?"

"Like I said earlier, I think sex would probably do you some good. I, personally, am not against showing you that it's not scary, and that it's actually very fun." Dallon throws a suggestive look towards Brendon, trying not to start laughing, but he fails when Brendon lets out a drawn out snort.

"Shut the hell up. Oh my god." Brendon stubs his cigarette out in the ash tray, then throws the butt off of the balcony, since his mom doesn't know he smokes. Actually, she probably knows, but seeing and knowing are two wildly different things.

Dallon copies Brendon's actions, and finds himself caught off guard when he has an armful of eighteen year old standing up on his toes to kiss him on the lips. "Can I say that I love you?"

"Course you can. I love you too, by the way."

Brendon can't help the toothy smile that takes over his face.

***

Brendon comes over on Wednesday, and Dallon was forbidden to come to work from Tuesday to whenever. Brendon, mostly, is just feverish and a little sluggish, curling up either near Dallon, or on him, for the first few days, until it really hits him. There's two layers of blanket separating his and Dallon's bodies, but despite that, they're still basically glued to each other. Brendon wakes up Saturday morning, hard as a rock, butterflies going wild in his stomach, especially since Dallon's subtly dry humping one of his thighs in his sleep.

He's conflicted. He wants some sort of relief, but he's nervous. Not necessarily afraid, but definitely nervous. He frees one of his arms from the blanket that's wrapped around him after rolling over to face Dallon. He shakes him awake gently, and pecks him on the nose when his eyes blink open.

"Good morning," he mumbles with a quiet sigh. "I see that we have a couple of visitors. Or feel."

Brendon huffs and scoots forward a little bit, tucking his head into the space between Dallon's shoulder and his neck, breathing in his scent, letting himself melt a little bit, eyes sort of droopy and body relaxed.

"Do you need water or anything?"

Brendon shakes his head. "Not yet." He tugs Dallon's blanket cocoon open, and uncovers himself from his own blanket so he can scoot forward and press their bodies together. Dallon drapes the blanket over either of their bodies again once Brendon's got an arm around his torso, and his head resting on his (Dallon's) arm.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Really hard and really nervous, but that's about it. My stomach is doing the butterfly thing." Brendon lets his hand travel down, gently ghosting over the bulge in Dallon's sweatpants, whimpering slightly at how  _ big  _ he is. "Is it--is it usually, uh... that--that big?"

"God, no."

"I think I--I wanna try, um..."

"You can say it, dude."

"I wanna try having sex. Like, immediately." Brendon can't bring himself to care as much as he usually does before he's crashing his lips against Dallon's, his hips moving of their own accord, whimpering just a little bit. Dallon kisses back, an arm thrown over Brendon's waist,

"Think you can go into my room, and sit on my bed while I get a few things?"

Brendon nods, admitting, "I kinda like it when you tell me to do stuff."

Dallon lets out a bit of a 'pff' noise, before he's slowly sitting up, and helping Brendon get into a sitting position. Brendon stumbles a little bit as he disappears into the hall, and Dallon meanders around his apartment, gathering four items; contraception, two bottles of water, and spermicidal lube. One of the bottles of water is for him, the other for Brendon. He grabs a Sharpie and marks a 'D' on his bottle and a 'B' on Brendon's.

Brendon's lying on his back, an arm across his stomach, and the other one over his eyes, breathing steadily. "You okay, B?"

"Still nervous."

"Understandable. Uh, I'm gonna--I'm gonna go get some latex gloves. Easier clean up, I guess. And towels. It, uh--it gets messy." Brendon just nods, and Dallon can see that his face gets a few shades darker.

Meanwhile, Brendon stays in the same position, mind running a thousand miles per hour. He's never really felt any urge to have sex with anyone, given he's always been terrified of it, but right now, he's sort of excited, once he gets past the nervousness. He figures his hormones and Dallon's pheromones have to do with it, but he's just kind of glad he's not feeling too anxious.

When Dallon comes back into the room with a few towels and a box of gloves, Brendon sits up, face still burning, playing with his fingers in his lap, waiting for further instruction. "Okay, uh... Can I still tell you what to do, or...?"

He nods. "I'll tell you if I wanna stop or slow down or whatever."

"Alright." The box of latex gloves get handed to him, and he notices Dallon's already wearing a pair. "Take your leather ones off and hand them to me, then put on a pair of those ones."

Dallon places the leather ones on top of his dresser, next to his own pair, before coming back over to the bed, taking the latex gloves and placing them on the nightstand, then shooing Brendon off of the bed so he can take the blanket off of it and place a few towels down, since he's not really looking to ruin his sheets or his mattress.

"Okay, alright, uh... Sorry--am I pushing you at all?"

Brendon shakes his head 'no.'

"Okay. Alright. Take your clothes off. Like, we can't exactly do anything if we're fully clothed, and you've been feverish anyways, so I don't want you overheating or anything. Brendon peels his shirt off, then his pants, but not his underwear as he's crossing his arms over his chest self consciously. "Haven't ever, uh... undressed in front of anyone before. I don't know how I look."

"Put your arms at your sides," Dallon tells him as he takes his own shirt off, and as he shucks his sweatpants off, but not  _ his _ underwear, and tosses them towards the hamper. He looks Brendon up and down. "You're hot, honestly."

Brendon scrunches his face up.

Dallon chuckles. "I'm serious! I think you're hot. You've got a nice body. Mine's all... flabby and not toned, and you're all lean and cute."

"I think you look hot too, though. Anyways, what now?"

"Take your underwear off."

"You first."

Dallon lifts his hips up as he slides his briefs off, and Brendon squeaks when he catches sight of his dick.

"Jesus Christ."

"Is that a good 'Jesus Christ' or a bad 'Jesus Christ'?"

"More like a shocked one. How is it gonna, like... fit?"

"You'd be surprised," Dallon mumbles. After Brendon's underwear is off, he beckons him over to the bed, and instructs him to lay on his back. "Do you want to just... get to it, or do you want me to take my time?"

"Take your time, please."

Dallon nods, and lays on his own back next to Brendon so he can lean over and kiss him slow and sweet. It's like that for a good bit, and Dallon's able to let his hands wander a bit before Brendon's pulling away slightly, whispering, "I want more."

Dallon nods, and sits up so he can sit between Brendon's legs on his own calves. He explains to him exactly  _ what  _ he's going to do,  _ what's _ going to happen, and asks him if he's alright with all of it, getting a permissive nod and a quiet, "Yes."

Dallon takes a deep breath of his own, because believe it or not, he's nervous too. He lets his hands go from Brendon's knees, and up his thighs, rubbing his thumbs along the insides of them, biting his lip when he ends up with slick on either of his thumbs. He lets his gloved hand hover above Brendon's dick before he's tentatively taking hold of it, watching Brendon to make sure he didn't have to stop as he slowly starts stroking it. "How's that feel?"

Brendon's voice is raised a few octaves as he says, "Really,  _ really  _ good. Holy shit." He ends up tearing up when Dallon stops right before he's about to come, whining.

"Shh, stop that. We haven't even started yet. You'll get to finish, trust me."

Brendon trusts Dallon, so he nods, not questioning him.

"This'll be easier if you're, uh, on your hands and knees, but if you don't want to, then that's totally fine."

"How will it be easier?"

Dallon flushes a little bit, which he didn't think was possible, given he's already pretty red. "You know how knotting works, right?"

"Not really," He admits, avoiding eye contact.

"That's alright. Okay, uh, knots form and like, keeps  _ it  _ stuck in there, which basically ensures pregnancy since sperm isn't going to, like... come out, and it stays like that for between fifteen minutes to an hour. Just depends. It'd be easier to lay down afterward and rest. Also, it's why we have contraceptives and spermicidal lube."

"This is all so weird. Jesus."

"Sex is pretty weird, in and outside of heats-slash-ruts." Dallon shrugs a bit. "Are you gonna, like, get on your hands and knees, or not?"

Brendon doesn't answer him, but rolls onto his stomach, letting Dallon lift his hips up, whimpering slightly when he feels two fingers prodding at his hole, then sliding in with ease. "Is this necessary?"

"If I just stick it in and go I could hurt you. Just want to make sure you're going to be alright, okay?"

"Alright, I guess. It's still weird."

"How are you feeling?" Dallon thinks to ask.

"Kind of nervous but not as much."

"Gotcha. I still have your consent, right?"

"Yes, you do."

Brendon can easily take four of Dallon's fingers, which would usually be a feat, since Dallon's fingers are both long and not the thinnest ones alive. He lines his dick up, then speaks. "Are you  _ sure  _ you want to do this? We're gonna hit a point to where there's no turning back, so if you're unsure, then now's the time to say something."

"No offense, but I don't think I've been more sure of something in my life, alright? I trust you,  _ a lot,  _ so for the love of  _ God,  _ get to it." Brendon wiggles his hips a little bit, and Dallon really doesn't need anymore prompting, since his cock is starting to get sore since he's been so hard for so long. Brendon lets out a high pitched and keening whine when the older one bottoms out.

Dallon runs his hand from between Brendon's shoulder blades, down his back, until it's resting on his ass, along with his other hand. Dallon resists every urge he has to fuck Brendon senseless, until the smaller male is begging for it, and Dallon  _ has  _ to give in, needing the release, and craving the knot that's sure to follow.

Brendon comes a few times throughout the whole experience, and then he's moaning pretty loudly, and letting out a string of expletives at the feeling of  _ fullness  _ he has as Dallon's cum is pretty much just filling him, and the way his cock is locked in place. Dallon's gentle as he's maneuvering their position to where they're spooning.

Brendon's obviously exhausted, letting out deep breaths, and holding onto Dallon's hands as if his life depends on it.

"How was that?" Dallon asks, a little warily.

"I don't have words for how awesome that is, and I'm wondering why I've been  _ scared." _

"You don't like messy things. Your hormones and pheromones are all weird right now, as are mine."

Brendon nods a bit. "Why'd you bite the side of my neck while we were doing it?"

"Jeez, I did that, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

"I'm embarrassed. Bonding. Like, okay, this is the only time you'll hear this leave my mouth, but it was an instinct thing."

"Can I bite you, then?"

"Whenever Dallon Junior decides he's done, you can."

***

_ "You're not wearing your gloves, you've been gone for a week, and you have bite marks all over your neck. I need an explanation." _

Brendon shrugs in response to Tyler.

_ "Don't shrug at me, mister. I want to know." _

_ "We're in  _ class,  _ you asshole. Ask me later." _

_ "Class doesn't start for another half hour, and me, you, and the teacher are the only ones who know sign language in this room, and she's not here yet, so hop to, motherfucker." _

_ "Went into heat the same week Dallon was in a rut. We fucked our brains out, I took, like, five hundred showers, and I'm having a good day so far today. I still have my gloves with me just in case, but this is the first time I haven't worn them in almost six years, so it's something." _

Tyler grins, genuinely.  _ "I'm proud of you, dude." _

_ "Thank you, Tyler. Like, seriously. Not a lot of people say that to me. Like, Dallon does, and you do, but that's it." _

_ "I'm always proud of you, man. Can I hug you?" _

_ "I think, yeah. Go for it." _

Tyler wraps his arms around Brendon's shoulders, and hugs him, and manages to whisper, "Really proud."

Brendon  _ has  _ to hug him back after that, since Tyler almost never tries to talk unless the situation really calls for it. He figures that this is really important to him, mostly since he  _ knows  _ Tyler cares a great deal about him.

***

Brendon has an entire week of  _ bad  _ days, and he means  _ bad.  _ Dallon tags along when he and his mom travel to Las Vegas for Thanksgiving, and gets to witness at least twenty panic attacks over the course of that week.

For one thing, he forgets his leather gloves and doesn't realize it until he's about ten minutes into the flight, so Dallon ends up making him wear a spare pair of his own that he had with him. They don't fit on Brendon's hands quite right, since Dallon's hands are fucking massive, and since his are small.

He ends up breaking down, after hearing at least three different people coughing, crying and smacking his palms against his forehead for most of the flight. He doesn't have any Lysol spay or Lysol wipes with him, or a face mask, one he only wears on special occasions. (For example, super bad days, or when there's a bug going around school.)

Dallon rubs his back, and ends up shouting, "Shut the fuck  _ up,"  _ at Brendon's mother after one too many hissed  _ comments  _ about him needing to grow up, which doesn't help, since Brendon  _ literally  _ shoves him away, a fearful look on his face.

"Brendon, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell," He says, voice hushed.

Brendon allows him to put his hand on his back again, but that doesn't last long, since a flight attendant stops by their seats. Her face is sympathetic, and she looks as if she feels terrible as she says, "There's been a few complaints. Try to be quieter, or, if you need, first class just so happens to be empty, and there's more room to breathe up there."

Dallon gets Brendon to sit up, signing,  _ "What do you want? Try to be quiet or first class?" _

_ "First class." _

"First class." The flight attendant nods, and Dallon walks behind Brendon with his hands on his shoulders, as if to lead him. The seats they get seated at are basically recliners, except slightly less comfortable, and you can't actually recline in them, but they're facing each other, and they're spacious enough to where Brendon's willing to sit in Dallon's lap while the man basically cradles him, shushing him once in a while and petting his hair.

When the flight attendant comes to check on them ten minutes later, Brendon's a little more calmed down, but not much, since he's still sobbing. Dallon looks up at her, back at Brendon, then up at her again. "I don't have a ton of money on me, but do you think I could get a bottle of water and a couple of alcohol swabs?"

She doesn't question him, just saying, "I'll see what I can do."

He gets the bottle of water and alcohol swabs, thankfully free of charge. Brendon has to sit up a little bit while Dallon uncaps the bottle and wipes the rim of it off with the alcohol swab, then wipes the rest of it down after unfolding the alcohol swab. "Drink some of the water. Not all at once. Just sips here an' there. Keeps you hydrated and it'll give you something to focus on."

After Brendon has half of the bottle of water down, he puts the cap back on, and hands it to Dallon, who places it in the cup rest next to the seat. "When we get to Vegas, do you want to stay with your dad like planned, or do you want me to splurge and get a hotel room for us to stay in?"

_ "I don't know,"  _ he shakily signs back.  _ "What do you think?" _

"Not sure. I haven't met your dad before or been to his house."

_ "He left my mom because of this stuff. He's still my dad, though, and I haven't seen him since I was, like, fourteen, and he doesn't know sign language, but he's going to try to hug me and I don't really even know him anymore, and I don't even know what I'm afraid of, but I just--" _

"Hotel room for now, alright? Stay there this evening and tonight, and ban your mom from the room, since she was kind of being a cunt earlier, and we can see how you feel in the morning. I'll see if I can rent a car or something, and I will invest in as many Lysol wipes and pairs of leather gloves as you want."

Brendon nods, trusting Dallon to take care of him. He's still crying, but he's not whimpering or sobbing anymore, at least not consistently. He's only able to stay in Dallon's lap for another ten minutes or so, since their flight is about to land.

_ "B, you're okay. Try to breathe, alright?"  _ Dallon signs, since Brendon's panicking in the seat across from him, obviously not ready to be separated from Dallon in any capacity yet. They wait for a little bit before getting off of the flight, waiting for most everyone else to be cleared out. Dallon carries both of their carry on bags, and manages to wheel both of their suitcases along, and lets Brendon hold his hand while they walk through the airport. Brendon's mother tails them, and Dallon explains to her that he's going to look into renting a car, then he's going to get a hotel room to stay in for the week.

Dallon cringes about having to dip into whatever savings he has, and ends up calling his own mother, asking her to see if she can spare any money just in case. (She can, of course, and she's willing, especially after he explains what's going on, thankfully.)

***

_ "I'm such a big baby."  _ Dallon catches Brendon signing that while they're at a stop light.

"You have OCD, an anxiety disorder, and haptephobia, and obviously traveling away from home is gonna be hard for you, since you haven't left Seattle since you were a kid. You're not a baby, and it's kind of my job to take care of you."

_ "Not your job. Shouldn't be your job." _

"I'm protective," Dallon reasons.

_ "I wish I wasn't like this. I wish I didn't depend on people and I wish I was normal." _

"But you are like that, whatever you mean, and you gotta do what you gotta do. You're working on it, and you're trying, so you need to give yourself credit for that. Anyways, dude, you've made a lot of progress, and a panic attack isn't going to fuck that up. I mean, okay, maybe a little, but you're going to be alright at some point. I believe in you."

***

Dallon doesn't cuddle with Brendon, at first, when they decide to go to bed, after Brendon's convinced himself that the hotel room is clean and that he's not going to get sick or die from sleeping in the bed. (Dallon also has to explain that they're required to wash the bedding, and that he chose a  _ nice  _ hotel for a reason.)

He's almost asleep when Brendon's tugging on his arm, trying to pull him closer. It takes him about half a second to comply. He mumbles, "Love you," before actually trying to sleep, and he feels Brendon writing,  _ "U-2,"  _ with his finger on his arm.

***

_ "It's going to look weird if I'm wearing all this shit. My dad's going to say something and make fun of me for being a fucking freak." _

"For the thousandth time, Brendon, you aren't a  _ freak.  _ You have a problem that you're getting help for. If you need to wear all of that, then wear it. I'll defend you and chew out anyone who so much as even looks at you wrong."

_ "Dad's an alpha, though. What if you butt heads with him?" _

"Then I'll win. I can take on an old man."

_ "He's fifty something. Human lifespans, especially alphas, tend to be around one hundred and fifty. You're, like, twenty four." _

"So? I'm fast. I could, like, dodge him."

Brendon snorts.  _ "Quit being a goof." _

"I can't, man. Like I said, it's part of my charm.

***

Brendon's dad goes in for a hug the second he sees him, and Dallon ends up having to block him, shaking his head. Brendon's already had one panic attack that day after walking down a sidewalk to the parking garage the rental car was in, and Dallon really wants to avoid another one.

"What? I can't hug my own son?" He looks offended and Dallon groans, mentally.

"He's having a bad day. Probably not a good idea to hug him when he doesn't want you to."

He huffs but doesn't say anything, rather just motioning the two of them to follow him to the living room. Brendon's mother is sitting on the couch, legs crossed, reading a newspaper in a bathrobe while drinking her coffee. She looks up at Brendon, to his father, then back to Brendon, signing,  _ "Are you doing any better today?" _

_ "A little bit." _

"Can we actually  _ speak?" _

Brendon rolls his eyes, and looks up to Dallon, signing,  _ "Tell him that, no, I can't fucking speak, and for him to get his head out of his ass and to quit being a fucking asshole." _

"Brendon said 'no,'" Dallon says, squinting down at his smaller boyfriend.  _ "I'm not telling him all that. I don't want him to kick my ass." _

_ "What about all that talk about being able to take him on this morning, Mister?" _

_ "Okay, listen, I'll fight him if it's necessary." _

"The two of you do realize I know sign language, right?" Brendon's mother cuts in, eyebrow raised.

_ "I'm aware, but you don't have the gall to tell Dad I think he's a piece of shit." _

"True," She mumbles, taking a sip of her coffee and looking back down at the newspaper.

Brendon leaves the living room at some point, going through the entire house, taking all of the shoes and lining them up against the wall next to the door. That's the first thing he does. Dallon stands out of the way, watching, ready to cut him off if absolutely necessary. He gets a text while Brendon's meandering about the kitchen, wiping every surface with Lysol wipes, organizing spices and dishes.

 

**Tyler:** how's brendon doing he quit answering texts yesterday morning and i worry

**Dallon:** He's fine. He had a bad day yesterday and today isn't much better so far, and he won't touch his phone, because he dropped it and hasn't had a chance to clean it yet. He's cleaning his Dad's entire house right now and I'm trying to play the role of peacekeeper.

**Tyler:** ok thank you for telling me :(

**Tyler:** tell him im spiritually sending him non-invasive hugs

**Dallon:** I'll do that when he's sitting down again.

 

"What the  _ hell  _ is he doing?" Dallon hears Brendon's dad asking his ex-wife.

Brendon whips around, and signs,  _ "Tell him this place is disgusting. There's dust everywhere and he doesn't even have the spices organized or dishes in places that make sense, and that there were shoes everywhere." _

"Just let him clean," Dallon mumbles, poking his head back into the living room. "I'll tell him to stop if I have to."

"What, and he'll  _ listen  _ to you?" The man whispers back to him.

"He might, he might not. Let me and his mom handle him, alright? You've been out of the picture for four years. I don't really think you get a right to ask questions, or the right to tell him what to do, especially if you're being an asshole about it."

***

A few more family members of Brendon's show up at some point, and after two unwanted hugs and an aunt filling in the stereotype of aunts by pinching his cheeks, he asks Dallon if they can leave, simply signing,  _ "I'm going to kill either someone or myself if I'm here any longer. Can we go back to the hotel or something?" _

Dallon just nods, and hands Brendon his jacket before telling his mom that they're ducking out.

Back at the hotel, Brendon takes his shoes off, placing them by the door just as he does at home, and curls up under the duvet that's on the bed in the room, pulling it tight around his small body. It's four in the afternoon or so, so Dallon's asking, "Can I touch you?" since he's wanting to get permission to run his fingers through Brendon's hair and to kiss him on the forehead.

When Brendon shakes his head, he just nods. "Alright. I'm going to go see if I can find anything for you to eat, since you haven't eaten today. Any requests?"

He makes a face as he sits up, and Dallon figures he tried grunting, given the way his throat moved.  _ "Smoothie, and, uh... Honestly, if it says 'vegan' on it and doesn't look disgusting and can be cooked in a microwave, then I'm good. Get plastic silverware and more alcohol swabs too." _

"Okay. I'll probably be back in an hour or so. Do you need anything before I leave?"

_ "A hug but I don't want to be touched. Do you see my dilemma?" _

"Yes, and you're fine."

_ "You should totally get me a bottle of water. I'd like that." _

"Coming right up," Dallon's saying as he heads towards the mini fridge in the room.

***

Brendon has one more meltdown at his father's house on Wednesday. Dallon, himself, isn't even sure about what set him off, just that he rushed out of the room they were in with the back of his hand over his mouth, eyes tearing up. Of course, he doesn't protest or say anything when he finds himself sitting on the bed in the guest room in the house with a lap full of sobbing eighteen year old. Similar to on the plane, Dallon cradles him, holding him close to his chest, shushing him once in a while. Dallon isn't overly experienced with panic attacks, since he's never really had one before, but Brendon's given him a few pointers on how to help whenever he has one. (Mostly just,  _ "Do what I tell you to do if it happens, alright? I might want to be held, I might want to be left alone. I don't know.") _

They're there for an hour before Brendon's able to focus on signing.

"What happened, B?"

_ "I don't know. I really don't. There were just so many people in that room and people kept touching me even when I was trying to make it clear I didn't want to be touched, like, I literally clung to you and you did the thing where your face gets scary whenever someone comes near me, and there was that one person who kept coughing and not covering their mouth and then I kept catching whiffs of the roast that dad always fucking cooks for a full day for Thanksgiving, and I hate, hate,  _ hate  _ meat, because it's disgusting and it makes me sick because I got food poisoning from a hamburger  _ one time  _ when I was, like, ten--too much was happening and my body was like, 'hey, Brendon, you have to be really scared right now and you have to cry at your dad's house!'" _

Dallon almost doesn't catch what Brendon's saying, since his hands are moving so fast, and since he's shaking. He mouths along with parts of it, though, which helps a little bit. "Can I do anything to help?"

_ "I just want to go home." _

"Alright. I'm--I'm sure I could make that happen tonight, if you wanted."

_ "Wait, really?"  _ The look of immediate relief on his face lets Dallon know he did something right.

"Yeah, of course. I'll just--I'll see if I can use our tickets early or something. I'll figure it out."

_ "Wait, fuck--what about Thanksgiving?" _

"We can celebrate it on our own, or, if you're up for it, we could go celebrate it with my mom...? I mean... if I'm not there, she's going to spend it alone, so it might be a nice surprise for her. She's super nice, too. I think you'd like her."

_ "Would she be willing to eat vegan food?" _

"Totally."

Brendon nods and closes his eyes for a moment before changing the subject.  _ "I thought I was getting better." _

"You are, trust me. Given our current situation, I think you're doing really good, but I also think you tried to do too much too fast. Am I right or wrong?"

_ "I think you're right. I really thought I'd be okay, because since, like--since we, uh,  _ you know,  _ since that one week I've been doing so,  _ so  _ good, and I thought it'd last, but it obviously didn't. I fucking hate being like this. It's so frustrating." _

"You just have to keep working at it. Like I said, it won't happen overnight. And, hey, you're doing amazing right now, because when we first met I could barely shake your hand for more than a second, but look at where you are now."

***

Dallon drops by his mother's house, on his own, for a few hours, on Thanksgiving, since Brendon claimed he needed to have some alone time to, like, sleep, and to just decompress before Dallon came back and made him eat something.

**Tyler:** how many times do i have to attempt speaking just to say 'i'm deaf' for distant relatives to leave me alone oh my fucking god i just want turkey and whatever lebanese shit dads family brought over

**Brendon:** I feel that on a spiritual level. Except I'm haptephobic, not deaf.

**Tyler:** how's it going anyways

**Brendon:** I came home early lol

**Brendon:** I had, like, ten panic attacks over the course of three days, so Dallon was like, "Yeah, this isn't working out."

**Tyler:** :((( non invasive hug?

**Brendon:** yes please :(

**Brendon:** Aside from your family not understanding that you can't hear how's ur thanksgiving

**Tyler:** idk im sitting in my bedroom eating right now

**Tyler:** apparently my voice creeps the children out and also i got called retard a few times so i was like yeah no i deal with this shit at school im not dealing with it in my own home

**Tyler:** i like how i cant read lips but retard is the one word i know tbh

**Tyler:** honestly id ask josh to come get me but his parents live in fucking columbus!!! and he's visiting them!!!!! im not putting out for a month im salty >:(

**Brendon:** If I could drive I would totally come get you

**Tyler:** dallon can drive

**Brendon:** ...he can. and he isn't home right now.

**Tyler:** am i really about to sneak out on thanksgiving

**Brendon:** i think you are. I need some nonvocal support in my life. I love Dallon, I do, but noise is like... overwhelming.

**Tyler:** can't relate #deaflife

 

Brendon grins at his phone a little bit, letting out a huff of laughter, then sends Dallon a text, asking him if he's willing to contribute to the delinquency of a minor by picking Tyler up and bringing him to hang out, then telling  _ him  _ to text Tyler when he says sure.

 

**Tyler:** dallon just. called my phone. and left a voicemail. VOICE mail.

**Tyler:** [image attached]

**_Tyler:_ ** _ dude im deaf _

**_Dallon:_ ** _ It slipped my mind. _

***

When Dallon comes back to his apartment, he arrives bearing Brendon's best friend, and the stuff to make a few vegan pizzas. He's a little touched by the fact that Tyler remembered to wear gloves, even though he feels as if he shouldn't be, since Tyler's, like, his best friend, and since he almost always remembers to do so whenever coming over to Brendon's home. (Or Dallon's.)

The three of them sit at the dining table, eating, and Tyler decides to start up a weird conversation.  _ "Why do betas exist? Like, what's their purpose, and what do they even do?" _

Brendon shrugs, and points his fork towards Dallon, meaning for him to try explaining, given he's the only one with medical experience in the room.

_ "Okay, in plain English... no one knows. In my personal opinion, I think betas are kind of obsolete, because they aren't nearly as fertile, and the only way they reproduce is through  _ just  _ straight sex, plus their senses aren't nearly as heightened as alphas are, or omegas." _

_ "Aren't alphas, like, superhuman?"  _ Tyler cocks a brow at Dallon.

_ "Not really. I mean, I can tell you're probably going to go into heat within the next week or two, and I know that Brendon's on edge right now." _

_ "Huh. You aren't wrong. How, though?" _

Dallon waves his fingers playfully before signing,  _ "Pheromones. That would've been funnier if I said it." _

_ "I get what you mean. Anyways, like, they don't teach about all of the biological stuff in school basically, other than alphas are scary and omegas are submissive as hell, and that betas are in between." _

_ "Actually, I wouldn't group alphas and omegas with betas. Betas are kind of like their own thing. Their senses aren't as sharp and they aren't as fertile or versatile as a species. Like, if there's a shortage of men or women within a group of betas, or, for example, in certain countries where Betas are the norm, like, if there's no men or women, they're going to die out. Sure, there's interspecies breeding or whatever, and betas are close enough in relation to us that whatever children betas have with alphas or omegas aren't going to be infertile, but, like..."  _ Dallon sighs, and waves his hand around a bit, trying to find words.

_ "I think what he's trying to say, and correct me if I'm wrong, Dallon, but like if there were a group of alphas and omegas that were all male, or all female, then they could reproduce. The only thing is that whatever children they had would be whichever sex their parents were. Like, if I ever happen to have a child with Dallon, it'd be male, since we're both male, and since there isn't a possibility of a girl popping out." _

_ "Well, there is a possibility, but it's, like,  _ really  _ rare that it happens. Also, the words alpha and omega and beta all refer to sex. Like, genitalia. Beta men and women have two sexes within their little subcategory, then alphas, generally, have the same stuff, and omegas have mostly the same stuff. You and Brendon are both...  _ exceptions.  _ Like, you both know male omegas are really rare, right?" _

Tyler nods, as does Brendon, before Tyler signs,  _ "There's only one other one in our school. Most of the other boys are either a beta or an alpha. _

_ "Yeah, exactly. Are there any female alphas in your school?" _

Tyler shrugs, since he doesn't get around much, which leaves Brendon to think.  _ "I think there's, like... one or two, to be honest? Tyler, do you know Ashley? Like, Frangipane?" _

Tyler nods.  _ "Yeah! Her! She's one! Oh, Miss Black, too. I mean, she's not a student, but I know she's an alpha. She smells kind of how Josh and Dallon to, but more feminine. She's so pretty."  _ Tyler sighs, voice cracking a little bit, which is a thing that happens when he sighs sometimes.  _ "I wish she wasn't, like, almost thirty. I would so marry her." _

_ "Isn't Josh, like, forty?"  _ Brendon bites his lip to keep from laughing when Tyler glares at him.

_ "He turned twenty one in June and I turn seventeen in December. Bite me. Also, he's  _ really  _ smart, and he even has a college degree already, so don't start. No offense, Dallon, but, like, graduating from college at twenty is more impressive than at twenty two." _

_ "I have another six months of online classes before I'm an RN, so don't start, Tyler."  _ Dallon wads up a napkin, and throws it at Tyler, who throws it back.

_ "Stop throwing that." _

Tyler mouths,  _ 'Sorry,'  _ and Dallon gives him an apologetic look.

***

The Monday following Thanksgiving is the day after Tyler's birthday, and Brendon's expecting him to come walking into class, looking happy, and excited to fill Brendon in on the details of his birthday like he did last year, but he just walks in, looking dejected and in a pissy mood.

_ "What's up, man?" _

_ "Imagine having two adults yelling and screaming at you, then imagine not being able to hear or understand them in the slightest, but knowing they're really angry but not knowing why, imagine the fear you would feel, then imagine me, a small guy who is barely 5'4" and who weighs a hundred and twenty pounds, literally cowering in fear on the floor, trying to hide myself because, hey, I don't know what the fuck's going on, but there's an adult male who's about six and a half feet tall all red faced and scary looking and giving off angry pheromones, then my fucking mom, standing there looking disappointed but also extremely pissed off, and I can assume it's all because I snuck out on Thanksgiving!" _

Brendon frowns, and forces himself to tug Tyler into a hug.

"Didn't even... get a birthday." Tyler's the one who gently nudges Brendon away, wiping at his eyes before turning in his seat to face his friend.  _ "Josh gets back from Ohio this afternoon, so I'm totally going to go over to his place and get fucked and forget about my shit for a while." _

_ "Isn't that illegal, since you're a minor and he's an adult...?" _

_ "The laws don't count if you're sixteen or older and soul mates. Otherwise, yeah, it'd be illegal. I'm seventeen now, though, so I got another year before I'm free to fuck whoever I please." _

_ "For a deaf guy, you get a lot of action." _

Tyler rolls his eyes, appreciating Brendon's bit of humor.  _ "It's whatever. Anyways, I'm grounded until fucking February, so I don't get Christmas or New Years either, and I can't leave the house unless I sneak out. I'm so tempted to just--to go live with Josh or something, but he says I should stay at home at least until I graduate next year. Did I tell you my parents aren't even planning to let me go to college, and if I do, they won't pay for it?" _

_ "What the fuck? Why wouldn't they let you?" _

_ "They're really traditional. Like, traditional enough to where they think omegas have to be trophy wives, and that they have to take care of all the household chores and pop out a litter every few years until they die off, and to where they think alphas have to be the ones who provide monetary support and control the damn household, and, basically, they're expecting me to be in an abusive relationship with Josh, but Josh already said that's not how things are going to work whenever I live with him. Like, he's gonna let me do whatever I want, and I wish my parents were like that." _

_ "That's not cool, dude." _

_ "What's your mom and dad like with that stuff? Distract me. Let me vicariously live through you." _

_ "My dad's kind of like your parents, but my mom is really nice. You've met her, obviously. I mean, she's kind of traditional in her way of thinking, I guess, and she's half expecting me to suddenly get over my shit and just--have a bunch of kids, y'know? I can't even handle having sex with Dallon outside of heat-slash-rut. Like, we tried one time, but we didn't even get to take our clothes off before I had to tell him to stop. Like, if I can't handle that, then I'm definitely not ready for fucking kids. Mom was eighteen around the time I was born, meaning she's thirty six right now, and my dad was way,  _ way  _ older than her, so you know how their relationship was. Young omega meets her older soulmate in... whenever I was born, ninety five, I think, they have a kid, and have some weird, codependent relationship that falls apart the second he learns that his kid is a 'freak' and that he's not a fucking alpha. Sorry, fuck. This isn't about me." _

_ "I asked, dude. What do you think your future holds or whatever?" _

_ "Realistically or what I like to tell myself?" _

_ "Mm, realistically, for now. We can save the optimism for when I'm not hating everything." _

_ "I think I'm probably not going to work, I don't think I'm going to go to college, I can't imagine ever being in a place to where I could actually get a job anyways, so, I don't know. I won't be able to handle having children, either, since they're messy, and if I did I couldn't just push all of that off onto Dallon. He's alright with, like providing monetary support in the future and what not, and I can tell he's honest about it, but I just... I don't know. I mean, I'd make the perfect 'housewife.' I'm  _ really  _ clean, I'm good at cooking, apparently, since Dallon, literally, moans whenever he eats something that I cook, I'm also apparently great in bed, even though Dallon does all of the work, and... who knows. I want to go through on whatever bullshit pipe dreams I have, but I need to be realistic." _

_ "I'm going to move out after I graduate, maybe sooner if I hit a breaking point, and I'm actually thinking about looking into compiling a book type thing with all of my poetry, see if it goes somewhere. If I wasn't deaf, I think I'd be a musician. Like, I read lyrics for songs a lot, and stuff I write looks like the things I see in song lyrics." _

_ "Wasn't Beethoven deaf?" _

_ "No. I mean, he was eventually, but he wasn't deaf until around the time he died." _

_ "Oh. Well, shit. There goes my inspirational speech." _

_ "I appreciate the sentiment. Did you know there's a surgery I could get that could potentially let me hear? I probably wouldn't be able to hear much, but I could hear loud noises, like car horns or--or really loud music, and there's a chance that it could work really well and I could hear on a normal level or whatever. like, not normal, but I'd be able to hear voices." _

_ "Why haven't you gotten it?"  _ Brendon frowns.

_ "My parents won't let me, saying it's too expensive, and that if they let me, then they'd have to let my little sister do it too, since she's also deaf. I'm also scared, though. I'm afraid that if I get the surgery it's going to fuck up whatever chance I had of hearing, or that it'd hurt or something. My doctors said that the way my ears work or whatever, that the surgery would probably be successful? I don't know exactly how they phrased it, but it's an opportunity that I'm not allowed to take, and it kind of hurts. Like, this shit--this shit has made my life really difficult since I was born, and I guess I'm used to it, but sometimes I wish I wasn't like this. I want to hear Josh's voice one day, though. Like I'm sure it's beautiful.” _

_ “His voice is really deep and he has a bit of a lisp. I know, like, you don’t have any concept of sound but that’s what his voice sounds like.” _

_ “How about mine?” _

_ “Nasally and it cracks a lot because you don’t talk very often. Also, like, deaf people have this specific way that their voices sound. Like, as far as word pronunciation goes, so there’s that. I like your voice though. It’s nice.” _

_ “What does your voice sound like? How would you describe it?” _

_ “Deep, kinda, cracks a lot since I don’t talk that much either, uh… Also a little nasally sometimes… I don’t know, man.” _

_ “That sounds nice. Hold your remarks.” _

 

_ “I think you’re fine the way you are, by the way.” _

***

Brendon sits in the cafeteria during lunch that day, alone at the end of a table with Tyler. They sit in silence, not talking, since, one, Brendon’s mute and Tyler’s deaf, and, two, since Brendon’s been focused on scrubbing a can of soda with an alcohol swab for five minutes. He opens the can once he feels comfortable drinking from it, then gets to work on opening the tupperware container used to contain his not very glamorous vegan alternative to fettucine alfredo. He wipes his fork down with an alcohol swab before stabbing it into the dish and twisting.

When he looks up, he ends up having to move his hand in front of Tyler’s face to get his attention, signing,  _ “Close your mouth when you chew. It’s disgusting when you don’t.” _

_ “Sorry, B.” _

Brendon shrugs, and starts eating his own meal. He all but jumps out of his skin when there’s hands slamming down on the table next to him. He looks up to see that it’s Spencer, who looks almost manic. Brendon sets his fork down for a second so he can reel back and sock Spencer in the arm. “Don’t scare me like that,” is all his voice will allow him to whisper at his friend.

Spencer sticks his tongue out at Brendon, and plops down next to him, being sure to put a good six inches between him and his friend. “I met my soulmate, guys.”

Brendon translates for Tyler, and Tyler does what he did when Brendon told him that he met Dallon. He flaps his hands around a little bit, and squeaks.  _ “What’s she like?” _

_ “Amazing,”  _ he signs back with a dopey look on his face. Brendon translates for Spencer since he starts speaking instead of signing. “She’s so pretty and nice and we were up all night on Skype just  _ talking  _ and, wow, I already love her. I’m so happy right now.”

Brendon smiles sweetly, to himself, mostly, and resumes eating while Tyler and Spencer talk to each other.

***

There’s four hours between the time Brendon usually gets home from school and the time his mother gets home from work. He’s sitting on the floor, directly in the center of his living room, elbows rested on his knees and his head in his hands, meditating almost, when she does get home.

He’s been like that for almost two hours, and his body aches from the lack of movement. When his mother asks, “Honey? Are you alright?” he moves a hand long enough to give her a thumbs up before returning his palm to his forehead.

Sometimes he needs to do this--to sit down and just shut off. Things get to be too much sometimes, as horribly emo as it sounds. His day wasn’t particularly rough, or, well, maybe it was, but compared to some of the other days he’s had, it was pretty tame.

The next time he’s drawn out of his thoughts, it’s due to a text message from Dallon, asking him to come over, since the older man is, apparently, lonely, and in need of human interaction with someone younger than seventy. And also since he’s still a little clingy after being separated from Brendon after spending almost an entire week together constantly.

***

“Can I hug you?”

Brendon has to think for a moment before he’s nodding, and holding his arms open. Dallon hugs him, and they both physically relax almost immediately. Brendon tries talking, but his voice gives out on him after, “It should,” and he sighs, since it means he has to end the hug so he can sign.  _ “It should be illegal for you to be able to make me feel calm like that.” _

_ “Nah. If it was illegal, I’d die. I love it when you hug me. I really want to kiss you right now. Can I?” _

Brendon nods again, and tries his best not to smile into the kiss Dallon plants on his lips. It’s soft and gentle and full of affection and Brendon feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest from how much it swells. 

“We should probably go. I don’t think your mom would appreciate it if we started making out in front of your guys’ apartment.”

Brendon snorts and giggles silently.  _ “You’re right.” _

***

Brendon only spends fifteen minutes organizing Dallon’s apartment before he’s taking a shower, and before he’s heading towards Dallon’s room to steal his blanket for the night. He takes the blanket to the couch in the living room, and wraps himself in it. Dallon gives him a bit of a look, and asks, “Why do you always steal my favorite blankets?”

Brendon has to unwrap himself so he can sign.  _ “Because they smell like you and they make me feel safe.” _

“Why steal my blankets when you could cuddle with the real deal?”

Brendon rolls his eyes, and lifts the blanket up.  _ “Get over here, you goober.” _

A triumphant grin spreads across Dallon’s face as he’s scooting across the couch. Brendon ends up in his lap, head against Dallon’s chest, and Dallon’s gently running his fingers through the smaller male’s hair, trying not to grin too stupidly at how Brendon just melts into him. He pushes his boundaries a little bit and gives into the urge he has to kiss the top of Brendon’s head.

Brendon whispers, “Would it be weird if I fell asleep?” at some point.

“No. You can sleep on me all you want.”

He smiles slightly as he closes his eyes again and shifts his position. Still whispering, he says, “You smell really nice right now.”

“I try my best.”

***

Brendon hates assemblies. Part of why he hates them is because his teacher makes everyone partner up and  _ hold hands  _ on the way to the gym. He can deal with that part, usually, because he always partners up with Tyler, and he trusts Tyler, but the part that he  _ can’t  _ deal with is sitting with so many other people surrounding him. The special education class usually sits in the front row next to a wall, so it’s not  _ that  _ bad, but he still flinches whenever a knee brushes his back.

Brendon ends up having to hold Tyler’s hand throughout the assembly just so he has something else to focus on. It’s a  _ pep  _ assembly and he hates pep assemblies, because they’re too loud. There’s always loud music, then there’s people yelling and screaming, and almost everyone is up and moving around. Tyler does lighten Brendon’s mood a little bit by leaning over and managing to say, “If it makes you feel better, to me, it looks like everyone’s having epileptic seizures.”

He starts giggling, and spells out,  _ “I love you, man,”  _ with his left hand. 

Tyler grins a little bit and squeezes his hand.

The assembly lasts way too long, and Brendon’s barely managing to hold back from having a panic attack while Tyler’s being a good friend and gently leading him back towards their classroom. While they’re walking, they get separated from the rest of their class, which isn’t too big of a deal until Brendon hears someone saying,  _ “Knew those two were together. Fags.” _

He flinches and walks a little closer to Tyler. He gets a weird look, so he spells out,  _ “S-O-M-E 1 C-A-L-L-E-D U-S F-A-G-S.” _

_ “I-G-N-O-R-E T-H-E-M.” _

***

Dallon takes Brendon on a casual lunch date during the weekend before the weekend before Christmas, mostly to just hang out. They eat a simple meal at a vegan restaurant that Brendon really likes, just chatting.

_ “My mom wants to go back to Vegas for Christmas. The only problem is that neither me nor you are allowed to come, and there’s nothing I can do about it because I’m eighteen.” _

_ “Why aren’t we allowed to come?”  _ Dallon frowns, and chews a bite of his pasta a little more aggressively.

_ “Mom wouldn’t tell me why, but I’m gonna assume that it’s because my father wasn’t too pleased with us after we left the day before Thanksgiving, and also since I kind of reorganized his whole house. I mean, that was a little over the top, and I do kinda feel bad, but… ugh. I haven’t spent any holidays without my mom ever, and I’m, like… not prepared, I guess. I’m a little dependent on people if you haven’t noticed.” _

_ “Fuck them then. Spend Christmas with me and my mom.” _

_ “Tyler too. He’s still grounded, and his parents aren’t letting him celebrate Christmas. Josh will probably tag along with Tyler since they’re practically connected at the hip. I wish life wasn’t so complicated. The ‘ugh’ of my mood has intensified.” _

_ “Me, you, my mom, Tyler, and Josh can totally have a banging Christmas, man.” _

_ “Can we spend some time alone together before we’re around everyone else?” _

_ “Of course. Can I ask why, though?” _

_ “Uh. I just… Christmas is one of those times that I wanna, like, have some quality bonding time with you. I also kind of want to try, like… having, uh…” _

_ “Sex?”  _ Dallon looks hopeful and suggestive and teasing and Brendon rolls his eyes.

_ “Yeah. Try being the key word, though. If I can’t handle it, then, like, the next almost guaranteed time I’d be willing is in January. That’s, uh, when I’m, uh, due for another heat.”  _ Brendon scratches at his jaw a little bit and averts his gaze, breaking eye contact.

_ “That’s cool, so long as you’re comfortable, man.” _

_ “As usual, I’ll tell you to slow down if we gotta. Can I, uh, like, come over and stay with you while my mom is gone…? I’ve learned that I hate being alone.” _

_ “Definitely. I’d love that.” _

Brendon grins a little shyly and holds his left hand across the table, as far as he can get it without straining himself, and Dallon holds it, smiling his own sweet, fond little smile.

***

The sex doesn’t end up happening, just like the last time they tried. They got to the making out part, and Dallon had went to slide his hand down Brendon’s pants, but forgot to ask, and Brendon grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand away, and that was that, honestly.

“Brendon, I’m sorry,” Dallon tries as Brendon sits up.

_ “I wasn’t expecting it,”  _ he signs as he stands up.  _ “I need to shower.” _

“Are you mad at me?” Dallon looks dejected.

_ “No, but you know to ask before you do shit like that.” _

***

Dallon changes into a revealing outfit. By revealing, he means that he changes into a turtleneck, jeans, and socks that go up to the middle of his calf, then leather gloves by the time Brendon is done showering.

 

Brendon walks back into Dallon’s living room, and before sitting down, he asks, “Are you sure you want to be with me?”

 

Dallon looks up and gives him a confused look. “Of course I am. Why is that even a question? Do you not want to be with  _ me?” _

 

_ “I do, more than you can imagine. I just--we’re never going to have a normal life or relationship together. Like, I probably won’t be able to sleep in the same bed as you on a lot of nights, I can’t see myself ever willing to have children, I can’t have sex because I just start freaking out whenever we try—” _

 

“Brendon, you’re eighteen,” Dallon points out. “Sure, I like affection and I wouldn’t be averse to having children at some point, and sex is pretty awesome, but you’re more important to me than that stuff, okay? I don’t know about the future but I’m pretty confident you’ll learn how to cope. We’re both so young still.”

 

_ “I want to be normal for you though. You deserve someone who’s going to be able to have a normal relationship with you.” _

 

Dallon holds his wrist up. “You see this? I spent almost twenty four years waiting to hear those words from you, and I’m not about to drop my  _ soulmate  _ just because I can’t be a decent person. I  _ love  _ you,  _ so  _ much. You should want to be ‘normal’ for yourself. Not me.”

 

Dallon hauls himself up, and after being granted permission, he tugs Brendon into an embrace. Brendon whispers, “I hate this fucking  _ disease _ . I wish I could just… not.”

 

“You’re gonna be alright one day. I promise.”

***

“What’s he doing?” Dallon’s mother whispers to him as they watch Brendon lining shoes up against one of the walls next to the door. That’s always what he starts with when he goes to someone’s house. Shoes.

 

“Just leave him be. He does this whenever he’s somewhere new. I’ll cut him off if I need to. He’s probably going to make the beds and organize everything and clean the bathrooms and the kitchen. That’s what he does.”

 

“Why weren’t you like this growing up?” She gives him a dirty look. It holds no water, of course.

 

“I don’t have crippling obsessive compulsive disorder,” Dallon deadpans.

 

“When would you cut him off?”

 

“Usually only when he starts getting upset and panicky or if he spends longer than an hour cleaning. He already knows this.”

***

Brendon stares at the scene on his probably future mother-in-law’s couch, envy rooting deep into his stomach. It seems stupid to him that he’s envious of Tyler and Josh, but, hey, he can’t help it. Tyler’s laying on top of Josh, looking all peaceful and relaxed, and Josh is doing the typical protective alpha thing, and Brendon is really jealous of the fact that they can just…  _ do that. _

 

It’s not like he, himself, is incapable of laying like that with Dallon, but it’s more like he can  _ rarely  _ do that. Well, not that rarely, but most times he ends up having to put at least five feet between himself and Dallon after half an hour.

 

Dallon walks around Brendon so he can get his attention without touching him, and so he can sign,  _ “Why are you staring at them like a creep?” _

 

_ “Just me being stupid. Don’t worry about it.” _

 

_ “It’s Christmas. Try to keep your chin up.” _

 

_ “Can we go smoke on the patio?” _

 

_ “Of course.” _

 

***

 

“Why’s there already an ashtray out here?” Brendon mumbles as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from the left pocket on his jacket.

 

“Mom smokes,” Dallon replies simply. It makes sense, of course. “Her and Dad both did. They had a thing where they’d sit on the patio in the evenings, and they’d smoke and talk about their day. One of those couple type things.”

 

“Were your parents, like… one of those typical healthy alpha-omega couples? Like--not the… y’know, the weird, codependent type ones. I mean, my dad acted like he was entitled to my mom, and like she belonged to him. Were they not like that?”

 

Dallon shakes his head as he’s being handed a cigarette. While Brendons lighting it for him, he responds. “No, never. My parents were never like that. There was a lot of love, trust, and respect in their relationship. My dad acted like my mom was the holiest thing alive, and I was raised to treat whoever I ended up with the same way.”

 

Brendon nods, taking a thoughtful drag from his cigarette. “I was raised not to expect to be anything more than some sort of… sex toy. Well, my dad tried to raise me like that at least. My mom is more…” Brendon waves one of his hands around vaguely for a second, before mimicking his mother’s accent to say “‘Do what you want.’”

 

“I hate that attitude that some alphas have,” Dallon grumbles with a frown. “I hate society in general.  _ American  _ society. American society sucks.”

 

“Stickin’ it to the man. I like that about you, Dallon.” Brendon smirks and chuckles dryly. He agrees with Dallon, of course. He even tells him as much. “I don’t like how omegas are treated, I don’t like how disabled people are treated, I don’t like how minorities are treated--I just--It  _ sucks.”  _

 

“We live in an alpha centric society. Like, if you’re an alpha, if you’re white, if you aren’t transgender, and if you’re a man, you’ve basically got it made.”

 

“What’s it like?” Brendon quirks  brow at Dallon as he slowly puffs smoke out of his mouth.

 

Dallon shrugs. “Unsettling when I actually think about it. Whenever we’re out somewhere together, like, whenever someone asks you something, they always look at me as if to ask for… for permission or something, and it’s… stupid. Like, you’re a person. I don’t own you.”

 

“Even my dad was doing it when we were there for, like, two days. I mean, he was still being kind of a dick, but he just… acted different.” Brendon flicks ashes into the ash tray.

 

“Hey, how does your mom deal with not being around your dad…? They’re soulmates, right?”

 

“They are. She says that even with as horrible as he is, she misses him every day he’s not there.”

 

“I can’t imagine how she deals with it. If I’m away from you for more than a week, I get this, like… this  _ feeling  _ really deep in my gut. It feels like someone punched me and stole my kidney or something, and it kind of just… hurts. It’s one of those feelings that make me want to crawl into bed, curl up, and just sleep. Well, either that, or seek you out. Sleeping sounds less creepy.”

 

Brendon snorts and rolls his eyes. “You make me feel safe and that’s kind of a rare thing for me to feel, y’know? I can’t imagine not having that feeling at least once in awhile. How does  _ your  _ mom deal with it? She can’t see your dad  _ ever.” _

 

“I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about it. He’s been dead for a little over a year now. I’ve tried imagining how it’d feel to  _ lose  _ your mate, and the only, like, descriptive phrase I can come up with is that if you died or something, I would probably kill myself. I’m not even exaggerating.” 

 

Brendon nods because he knows. He’s had night where he’s contemplated what he’d do in certain situations, certain circumstances, and he tells Dallon that as far as the ‘losing your mate’ subject goes, they’re on the same page basically. 

 

They settle into a comfortable silence while they smoke, until a question seems to pop into Dallon’s head. His voice is gentle and quiet, just as it always is, as he asks, “When’s your heat supposed to happen?”

 

“Next week or the week after.”

 

“Are we…?”

 

Brendon flushes red and nods as he breaks eye contact. “I’ve learned that I prefer to, uh,  _ go through  _ that stuff with another person rather than on my own.”

 

“I like you better than I like my hand,” Dallon mumbles to himself before he’s snorting and giggling from his own response.

 

Brendon rolls his eyes.

 

***

 

“How’d you like Christmas?” Dallon mumbles to Brendon around two in the morning once they’re finally in Dallon’s apartment again.

 

Brendon has a hand resting politely on one of Dallon’s while they’re watching a TV show, squeezing the older man’s fingers once in awhile as some form of affection. “I liked it. Your mom is really nice. I like her.”

 

“I like her too. She’s a pretty kick ass mom.” 

 

“It was probably the best Christmas I’ve ever had, mostly because you were there. I still hate holidays because there’s too many people, and too much going on, but it wasn’t that bad this year.”

 

“That’s good, that it wasn’t that bad this year. What are we doing for New Years?”

 

“Spending it alone. New Years is a stupid holiday and I don’t want to celebrate it with a ton of people. We’ve got a week to blow off until then anyways.”

 

“Well, I have to work tomorrow, and up until the thirty first, so  _ you’re  _ going to have a week to blow off.”

 

“Why do you have to work this week? It’s Christmas, man.” Brendon pouts and gives Dallon a look that the older man, quite frankly, finds adorable.

 

“It gets hectic in assisted living centers around Christmas. Like, there’s a lot of old people who hang on for one last Christmas before kicking it, then there’s families in and out visiting the residents, and then there’s people who take time off from working. I’m getting hella overtime, so it’s not  _ too  _ bad, though.”

 

“It’s always weird being in your apartment when you aren’t here,” Brendon muses quietly.

 

“What do you even do when I’m not here?” Dallon turns his head to look at Brendon, surprised to see that the younger of the two is giving him this fond and somewhat adoring little look. (Brendon always looks at him like that, but Dallon still gets this fluttery-can’t-speak feeling whenever he catches the look.)

 

“Do your dishes and laundry, watch Netflix, sleep… That’s about it, aside from my daily routine. I also do homework on the occasions that I’m here alone and I, y’know, have homework. Nothing too interesting.”

 

“Can I kiss you?” Dallon blurts.

 

Brendon’s eyes go wide and he sputters for a moment while he ponders the question before saying, “Just once.”

 

Dallon grins for a moment before moving the hand that Brendon had been sort-of holding so he can hold himself up while he leans over to kiss the smaller male deeply for a few seconds.

 

Brendon reaches up and pinches the collar of Dallon’s button up between his index finger and thumb, holding him in place. “One more.”

 

The next kiss lasts longer and Brendon reciprocates as best as he can and either of them are left giggling afterward.

 

***

 

_ “Can I touch you?”  _ Tyler’s signing with a frown as he looks over at Brendon while they’re waiting for their teacher to arrive on the first day they’re at school again after winter break.

 

_ “I… guess? I’m feeling okay today, so I dunno.”  _ Brendon shrugs, and he’ll admit it--he wasn’t the most alert or awake person in the world, but then Tyler’s reaching over with his right hand and rubbing his thumb across one of the scent glands in his neck, and Brendon’s eyes are widening and he’s glaring at Tyler, quickly signing,  _ “What the hell are you doing?” _

 

Tyler pulls his thumb away and sniffs it.  _ “You shouldn’t be here, Brendon. Why didn’t you stay home?” _

 

“It’s not supposed to be until next week,” Brendon mumbles softly in an incredulous tone. “Fuck.”

 

“Brendon? I am  _ deaf.  _ Sign to me.”

 

_ “Sorry. I was talking to myself, mostly. I said it’s not supposed to be until next week. It’d explain why I can’t focus. What should I do?” _

 

_ “Call your mom?” _

 

_ “Can’t. She’s still in Vegas, at least until next Friday.” _

 

_ “Dallon?” _

 

_ “He’s working and also not my legal guardian…?” _

 

_ “Well, for one thing, you’re eighteen, but for another, he’s your alpha. Text him or something. Think of this as a chance to get laid.” _

 

_ “Walk with me to the office, asshole,”  _ Brendon signs with an eyeroll as he stands up after carefully placing his pencil and eraser back into the pencil pouch on his binder.

 

***

 

**Brendon:** I’m being sent home from school because of STUFF and I need a ride.

**Dallon:** What stuff

**Brendon:** Like. That  _ thing  _ that’s supposed to happen  _ next week  _ instead of  _ this week.  _

**Dallon:** OH

**Dallon:** Ok. I got sent home from work almost as soon as I arrived anyways. Conveniently. 

 

***

 

“Why did you even go to school today?” Dallon mumbles as he’s unlocking his car, looking up and over his car a few times to make eye contact with Brendon.

 

_ “I just thought I was tired from the holidays. Why’d you go to work?” _

 

“Same thing. Josh said I smelled all  _ feisty  _ then he gave me  _ the look  _ that he gives me whenever he hears an innuendo. Like, you know the look, right?”

 

Before Brendon’s about to bend down to get into the car, he nods.  _ “I’m around Tyler enough to know. He’s kind of a dork.” _

 

“Yeah, exactly,” Dallon’s replying with a grunt as he’s getting into the car. “Anyways, he said that, then made me go talk to the nurse that was there, and she shooed me out of the building and told me to come back whenever. Usually I just call in, but, similar to you, I thought I was just…  _ tired.” _

 

Brendon whispers his response, thanking god that his voice doesn’t crack more than once.. (Dallon’s driving, or he’d sign.) “You, uh… have things at your apartment, right?”

 

“Same as last time,” Dallon assures him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?”

 

Brendon nods, cheeks red, and lets his gaze settle on the buildings that they’re passing, rather than Dallon’s face. “I’m sure. I just feel super sleepy right now, and I always sleep better at your apartment, so I dunno…” Brendon picks at a thread on his gloves. “Same as before? If I get uncomfortable we stop?”

 

“Of course, B.”

 

—-

 

Dallon stares at the unconscious beauty that’s laying on him. Brendon’s dead asleep on Dallon’s chest, and Dallon’s heart swells whenever he looks down at Brendon. The younger male sleeping on him like this, especially during a heat, is, quite possibly, the biggest display of trust Dallon’s ever seen him do.

 

It’s late right now, and Dallon has his TV muted as to not disturb Brendon, who, seriously, looks so gorgeous in the light from the TV. His hair is messy, and his long eyelashes are resting oh-so prettily high on his cheeks, and his mouth is opened the tiniest bit as he snores. 


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IDK i was bored and just wanted to like write a thing and when im bored and dk what to do text fics happen here take it

**start**

**\---**

**josh:** hey

 **tyler:** hi

 **josh:** sup

 **tyler:** nothing

 **tyler:** who are u

 **tyler:** no offense

 **josh:** o shit

 **josh:** u had ur kik username in ur bio on tumblr hh i thought i sent an ask to warn u

 **tyler:** oh

 **tyler:** i dont have any new asks so it probably got eaten by what i like to call the ask goblin

 **josh:** what if there was an actual goblin that ate asks

 **tyler:** i would scream

 **josh:** same

 **josh:** imagine sending an ask to someone then BAM goblin pops up like bitch im starving and eats it

 **tyler:** that sounds more funny than scary tbh

 **josh:** its supposed to be scary :(

 **tyler:** still scary but also funny

 

\---

 

 **josh:** do i have to act all polite and hold back or can i just dive in and be tmi right off the bat

 **tyler:** please just dive in i literally hate that awkward phase at the beginning of friendships

 **josh:** me too

 **josh:** ok so like

 **josh:** i had an embarrassing moment at a friends house today

 **josh:** someone pulled my hair on accident and my hoe ass moaned

 **tyler:** LMFAO

 **tyler:** bitch me too

 **josh:** good 2 know we're on the same page

 **josh:** i didnt want my friends knowing im Gross

 **josh:** like literally i dont have the words to describe how Hot N Bothered getting my hair pulled gets me u know

 **tyler:** dude definitely

 **tyler:** one time i got hard after someone pinched my arm like

 **tyler:** it wasnt even a hard pinch but i was still sitting there with a boner for like half an hour

 **josh:** the worst is when ur friend jokingly smacks ur ass and ur dick is like "hey im here. sup."

 **tyler:** ur friends are wild gimme

 **josh:** no i love them too much :(

 

\---

 

 **tyler:** what do u do when ur friends all joke about daddy kinks but u actually have one like do i just say something or do i laugh along

 **josh:** Fuck. I Feel This.

 **tyler:** idk what to do "how do people get turned on by this idgi"

 **tyler:** i dont get it either but like if someone calls me daddy my dick is Hard and There

 **josh:** lmfao

 **josh:** im the opposite

 **josh:** like call me any pet name and im urs tbh

 **josh:** tho if i ever had the chance to Actually and Seriously call someone daddy im sure i would be Rock Solid ASAP

 **tyler:** u got any favorite pet names

 **josh:** sweet thing, sugar, and princess

 **tyler:** fuck

 **josh:** what

 **tyler:** youre adorable???

 **josh:** boi

 

\---

 

 **josh:** important question

 **tyler:** hit me tf up

 **josh:** is it possible for boys to be cute

 **josh:** and i dont mean effeminate boys i mean masculine and buff boys like football player boys

 **tyler:** i think so yes

 **josh:** i got a shitmail on tumbloprpeormrpr saying i cant be cute

 **josh:** [image attached]

 **josh:** am i or am i not the most adorable thing on this goddamn planet like have u see my thighs??? i dont care if im the definition of masculinity u still gonna see my gay ass in the club with makeup and a skirt

 **tyler:** hnstly youre super cute that person doesnt know what theyre talking about

 **josh:** thank you

 **josh:** fuck gender stereotypes

 **josh:** i will be the gosh darned cutest boy youve ever seen >:(

 **tyler:** yass hunty

 **josh:** lmao same

 

\---

 

 **tyler:** do u ever get hard out of nowhere and u look at ur dick like "what is is boy what did u see"

 **josh:** all the gd time

 **josh:** sometimes i h8 getting turned on tho

 **tyler:** wht why

 **josh:** sub space

 **josh:** is that too weird

 **tyler:** OH

 **tyler:** no not at all

 **tyler:** yeah i can see why thatd be a problem esp in public

 **tyler:** as ur friendly neighborhood dom,,,

 **josh:** u. a dom. right

 **tyler:** i explained my daddy kink to u what about that makes me sound like a sub

 **josh:** for some reason u dont strike me as a dom idk

 **tyler:** its bc u dont know me irl

 **tyler:** i, personally, think i am the Dommiest of all Doms

 **josh:** mhm u jus keep telling urself that big boy

 **josh:** (im joking btw)

 **tyler:** smh

 **tyler:** (ik im just going along w it)

 

\---

 

 **josh:** [image attached]

 **josh:** WAIT FUCK WRONG PICTURE

 **tyler:** oh

 **josh:** fuck omg

 **josh:** [image attached]

 **josh:** this is my cat, not me touching myself

 **tyler:** i mean both are pretty great

 **tyler:** whats ur cat's name

 **josh:** spooky

 **josh:** he sleeps a lot

 **josh:** i think thats the first time ive ever sent a nsfw picture of myself to anyone and ofc its on accident

 **tyler:** if it helps i think youre super cute??? like i had to take a minute to say "oh my god he's cute" out loud

 **josh:** orly

 **tyler:** yes

 **tyler:** how recent was the one picture

 **josh:** yesterday evening

 **josh:** i was feelin myself literally and emotionally so i took a few pictures

 **tyler:** wait how old are u i should probably ask before this gets any gayer

 **josh:** i turn 23 in june

 **josh:** how old are u

 **tyler:** i turned 18 in december

 **josh:** wtff how are u that much younger than me

 **tyler:** who knows man

 

\---

 

 **josh:** i havent eaten in like a day what do i do

 **tyler:** go eat

 **josh:** but listen. i could also sleep.

 **tyler:** yeah but you could also eat

 **tyler:** u need to take care of urself and eating is one of those things

 **tyler:** im serious go eat >:(

 **josh:** i hate being single/living alone bc i have no one to cook for me

 **tyler:** i feel

 **tyler:** fr please go eat :( id personally feel better if i knew u ate

 **josh:** smh fine

 **josh:** what do i eat tho

 **tyler:** i dont even know what u got in ur fridge

 **josh:** lots of vegan stuff tbh

 **josh:** u know what i reeeeeeallly want

 **tyler:** what

 **josh:** dick

 **tyler:** bitch me too tf

 **josh:** i havent gotten laid in so long like theres a scene from a tv show i like where the guy is sitting on the couch after a one night stand getting interrupted like the 1st hes had in awhile and he literally says "god i am so horny" like thats me ok

 **tyler:** i fuckin feel that

 

\---

 

 **tyler:** ok i went to a party one of my friends threw and i hooked up w this guy right

 **tyler:** one night stand nothing going on ofc

 **tyler:** but we get in the room alone and hes like

 **tyler:** This Bitch thought he was in charge

 **tyler:** he starts coming onto me like guys usually do and boi that situation got turned around real fast like

 **tyler:** i get really satisfied when i can turn people who act like the biggest tops into the biggest bottoms

 **josh:** u get em tyler

 **josh:** damn

 **josh:** when i was 18 or so i tried being a top for like 2 months before realizing that its boring i would much rather gain my way to success on my back ygm (aka i got dicked down real good)

 **tyler:** i feel except i dont

 

\---

 

 **josh:** i had an anxiety attack at work today and someone called me a big baby

 **josh:** like u right but u dont need to call me out on it u know

 **tyler:** are u ok D:

 **josh:** yes just Exhausted

 **josh:** i need a nap

 **tyler:** then go nap

 **josh:** see i would but like

 **josh:** i always have trouble getting to sleep after anxiety/panic attacks

 **tyler:** wait whats the difference

 **josh:** anxiety attacks are caused by something whereas panic attacks just happen

 **tyler:** o

 **tyler:** ok i gotchu

 **tyler:** can i do anything to help :(( u need a nap

 **josh:** unless u wanna somehow magically appear in my apartment and basically hold me while i sleep then probably not

 **tyler:** i mean. would a skype call work

 **tyler:** im not rly doing anything anyways

 **tyler:** just working on homework so its gonna be a lot of quiet "fuck shit goddamn it"s and paper noises

 **josh:** idk maybe

 **josh:** i mean actually it probably would

 **josh:** i had a girlfriend who used to call me on skype while i slept bc like,,, its stupid but the sounds of someone else is rly cathartic in a way

 **tyler:** its not stupid also i thought u were gay

 **josh:** i mean im bi but i also reaaaaallyyyyyyyyy like boys ygm

 **tyler:** i feel that

 **josh:** i dont think my romantic and sexual orientation like. line up.

 **josh:** bc ive only ever like. had actual FEELINGS like romantic ones for guys but i have sexual ones for literally everyone

 **josh:** that was off topic af

 **tyler:** nah fam i get that

 **tyler:** one of my friends is ace and everyone assumes hes also aro like rip i feel bad for him :(

 **tyler:** he gay af just doesnt do the sex thing

 **tyler:** i dont rly get how asexuality works bc boi im sexual af but i support him

 **tyler:** anyways. skype. whats ur username

 **josh:** dont laugh at me bc i was like 15 but

 **josh:** xfiled72

 **tyler:** aww my little nerd :^)

 **tyler:** its chill mines basketballdude99

 **tyler:** i think we can guess what my interests were when i was 15 lol

 

\---

 

 **tyler:** webcam or no

 **josh:** yes

 **tyler:** yes webcam????

 **josh:** yes. but only if u want to.

 **tyler:** its chill smh just gotta go change my shirt and fix my hair

 **josh:** gotchu

 

\---

 

 **josh:** i really want to question your name but common sense is telling me to ignore it

 **bananaman:** yeah

 **josh:** i have a dilemma

 **bananaman:** tell papa brendon whats wrong

 **josh:** nevermind im going to debby

 **bananaman:** im kidding dude come back

 **josh:** ok so u know how ive been in the market for a dom for literally eons

 **bananaman:** yes im aware

 **bananaman:** our whole friendship was initially based off of a mutual interest in bdsm like i am well aware

 **josh:** true. anyways i think i might or might not have Met someone but i have a few problems one of which me being unable to gauge how he feels about me

 **josh:** the other problem is that hes 4 and a half years younger than me and is literally still in high school

 **bananaman:** is he 18

 **josh:** well yeah if he wasnt i wouldve stopped talking to him

 **josh:** he graduates in a month anyways

 **josh:** the last problem is like . long distance

 **josh:** idk where he lives but im going to assume that he doesnt live in california since hes like 3 hours ahead of me

 **bananaman:** anything else before i give u my 2 cents

 **josh:** yes i had an anxiety attack last week and he literally called me on skype and talked to me until i fell asleep bc i always have trouble sleeping whenever i have those and i know thats not HUGE huge but it meant a lot to me :(

 **bananaman:** here are my 2 cents: go for it

 **bananaman:** i mean be careful just in case hes some middle aged guy wanting to screw you over but like hes 18 and u obviously like him and from the sounds of it i think he probably likes you too so like. we have our 2 things. 1, it's legal, and 2, both of you like each other.

 **josh:** now how exactly do i 'go for it' because uve met me. im the biggest bitch ass alive.

 **bananaman:** idk

 **josh:** how did u and ur boyfriend get together

 **bananaman:** it's called pete not knowing what boundaries are and somehow managing to hook u and ur best friend up thats literally how it happened for me

 **josh:** u dont know what boundaries are can u be my annoying friend and do that 4 me

 **bananaman:** see i would but also no

 **josh:** well shit it was worth a shot

 

\---

 

 **tyler:** hey i gotta tell u something

 **josh:** what is it my man

 **tyler:** u are really cute

 **tyler:** like ok i wouldve said something last week when i called u on skype but i was super busy Staring at your face bc gooodddddd u are cuuuuute

 **tyler:** i wanted to Cry like i was sitting there looking at my laptop thinking to myself "what a superb human being holy shit"

 **josh:** this is illegal stop making me blush

 **tyler:** no im for real like i know u were upset and all but u just. ur so??? adorable??? how u do it?????

 **josh:** This Is Harassment

 **tyler:** i am serious about this i will yell it from the rooftops ok

 **josh:** no dont do that

 **tyler:** y not

 **josh:** its so extra

 **tyler:** i am the king of extra dont test me, dun

 **josh:** i will Test You always

 **tyler:** B|

 

\---

 

 **tyler:** hey ur like 10 yrs older than me

 **tyler:** i need life advice

 **josh:** four and a half but ok what do u need

 **tyler:** college advice

 **josh:** well i went to college and got a degree in something sensible

 **josh:** honestly if u can get a scholarship just,, go w that the debt is ridiculous

 **tyler:** i mean i have a full ride just as long as i like. play basketball and major in business administration

 **josh:** lucky wtf

 **josh:** happy 4 u

 **josh:** do u want to play b-ball tho

 **tyler:** not really but its all i know how to do

 **tyler:** im gonna do it smh

 **josh:** whatever u choose i got ur back bro

 

\---

 

 **tyler:** i fucking hate where i live

 **tyler:** in the winter i was literally snowed in for a week but now its barely may and 100 degrees today like what the Fuck

 **josh:** do u live in ohio

 **tyler:** yh why

 **josh:** most of my family lives there and i spent like november-february listening to everyone btich about the snow

 **josh:** like as someone who lives in cali that sounds like a dream

 **tyler:** why do you live in california omg

 **josh:** college & because its not ohio

 **josh:** though i did get my undergraduate degree at ohio state

 **josh:** its so expensive and hot here i want death constantly

 **tyler:** why didnt u move somewhere with better weather lmfao

 **tyler:** like if i were u i wouldve moved to washington or something

 **josh:** yeah but rain gets depressing

 **tyler:** i take personal offense to that i love rain

 **josh:** i mean same but like. shitty weather takes a toll

 **tyler:** u right

 **tyler:** anyways wyd

 **josh:** [image attached]

 **josh:** laying in bed in my underwear watching mean girls for the millionth time tbh

 **tyler:** Fuck

 **tyler:** stop being cute thats illegal af

 **josh:** sorry no can do

 **tyler:** so t-shirt counts as underwear

 **josh:** i mean

 **josh:** sort of

 **josh:** but i also just like wearing oversized shirts tbh

 **tyler:** understandable

 **tyler:** fr u look gr8 10/10 100% dtf

 **josh:** dtf ??

 **tyler:** down to fu*ck

 **josh:** boi

 **josh:** ya same

 

\---

 

 **tyler:** i have a job interview today let me know if im dressing up too much

 **tyler:** [image attached]

 **josh:** daddy is that u

 **tyler:** Stop Immediately sdfgb lmao

 **josh:** are u applying to be the president

 **tyler:** no applying for an office job to have over the summer

 **tyler:** my dad recommended me for the job so i have an interview ig

 **josh:** o

 **josh:** i think you look very handsome

 **josh:** 100% dtf

 **tyler:** good

 

\---

 

 **josh:** are you awake

 **tyler:** for the time being yes

 **josh:** wanna perhaps call me on skype

 **josh:** i cant sleep

 **tyler:** yeah sure

 **tyler:** idk how much longer ill be awake

 **josh:** its cool

 **josh:** its something about like. not being alone. u know.

 **tyler:** yeye i got you :) ill call u

 

\---

 

 _"hey, when did you dye your hair?"_ tyler's voice is groggy and his eyes are trying their best to stay open and josh wants to 'aww' at him.

"last week. i was getting tired of the brown. figured teal would have to do." josh shrugs and pulls his blanket tighter around himself, continuing to watch his laptop screen.

_"you look good. teal is definitely your color, babe."_

"babe?" josh raises his eyebrows.

 _"i'm tired,"_ tyler groans into his pillow. _"i get gay when i get sleepy."_

"you must be tired a lot."

tyler snorts and starts giggling. _"shut up_ _, butthead."_

josh smiles sweetly. "thanks. for calling me on skype, i mean."

 _"no problem. if i'm honest, i sleep better listening to someone else. i sleep_ really _good if there's another person actually next to me, but y'know."_

"same. my last boyfriend, uh... like, he used to tell me that i basically slept like a rock up until he'd get up to go to work, then i'd wake up and get grumpy."

_"cute."_

josh sticks his tongue out.

 

**\---**

 

 **josh:** i have to go do adult things today kms

 **tyler:** what kind of adult things

 **josh:** need to get my license replaced so i have to go sit at the dmv :') i literally want to die

 **josh:** theres always too many people at the dmv so i always end up either on the verge of tears or crying by the time i leave

 **josh:** im an actual baby

 **tyler:** i feel u tbh

 **tyler:** can i do anything to help :(

 **josh:** yeah come to california and somehow manage to hold my hand all day no letting go for any reason at all

 **tyler:** i would if i could :(

 **josh:** catch me at the club, dabbing anxiously

 **tyler:** lmfao bitc h same

 **josh:** fuk

 

\---

 

 **tyler:** can i casually send u a dick pic

 **tyler:** i mean its not that much of a dick pic but like

 **tyler:** i have a boner

 **tyler:** and i look hot but i dont have anyone to share it with

 **tyler:** and i mean u sent me a picture of u doing stuff to urself a while back

 **josh:** just send the picture omg dont gotta justify urself

 **tyler:** [image attached]

 **josh:** boi ur hung

 **josh:** get in my ass immediately thanks

 **tyler:** ur a size queen arent u

 **josh:** yeah :(

 **josh:** you hold some mighty power over me

 **josh:** one dick pic and im already getting hard

 **tyler:** everything you do is cute to me idfk why

 **tyler:** u should send me smth ;)

 **josh:** why would i do that

 **tyler:** cuuuz ur cute and im a horny teenager

 **josh:** [image attached]

 **tyler:** has anyone ever given you hickeys on ur thighs bc if not i call dibs on being the first person to do that to u

 **josh:** honestly no one has done that before

 **josh:** pls feel free my thighs are my weakness

 **tyler:** put a reserved sign on ur thighs then they are Mine

 **josh:** will do

 

\---

 

 **josh:** check ur submissions on tumblr

 **tyler:** BOI

 **tyler:** omfg did u seriously send me a fathers day nude

 **tyler:** ill give u a shout out I GUESS

 

_tumblr: s/o to @stillstreet for sending me nudes for fathers day. you are so precious._

 

 **josh:** ur making me soft

 **tyler:** wtf no i want u to be hard

 **josh:** Emotionally Soft, You Whore

 **tyler:** ok is it too much for me to say that i reaaallyyy want to fuck you

 **tyler:** have we established that we have gay shit going on

 **josh:** its not too much so long as its not too much for me to say that i reaaallyyy want you to fuck me

 **tyler:** wanna take this 2 skype

 **josh:** hella

 

\---

 

 **tyler:** you are such a little shit

 **tyler:** "@spookyboy ur taking too long to give me attention so im posting these sorry xoxo"

 **tyler:** >:((

 **josh:** my ass still belongs to u dont worry

 **josh:** i need attention to breathe basically

 **josh:** also?? "#look at my boy #isn't he perfect #u deserve all the attention" ??? ur an ass .

 **josh:**  ur thirsty ass followers are in my inbox now jfc

 **josh:** so many guys are giving me their kik u/ns

 **tyler:** ur not adding them are u

 **josh:** lol no

 **tyler:** good

 **tyler:** the josh ass is Mine

 

\---

 

 **tyler:** whore

 **josh:** bitch ass

 **tyler:** why didnt u tell me ur birthday was on fathers day this year wtf

 **josh:** how did u even find out 

 **tyler:** skype 

 **josh:** fair enough 

 **tyler:** thats perfect that ur birthday was on fathers day we totaly couldve been extra gay 

 **josh:** listen .

 **josh:** i didnt know if youd care about my birthday

 **tyler:** of course i would??? its ur BIRTHDAY why wouldnt i care >:((

 **josh:** i dont know maannnn not a lot of people care about my birthday ok :( 

 **tyler:** well why tf not :( 

 **josh:** Who knows :(( i mean its not like i tell everyone but still

 **josh:** my siblings all have birthdays before mine so by the time it gets to me my family is just like "eh theres already been three birthdays who cares"

 **josh:** and all my friends have birthdays like right before mine so theyre always all birthdayed out by the time it gets to me 

 **tyler:** :(

 **tyler:** now im sad i want to come throw you a birthday party

 **josh:** no dont i would probably cry 

 **tyler:** No Crying Just Happy 

 **tyler:** i would throw you a biiig party with all the cake and treats and id even decorate with like streamers and banners and balloons n all that shit 

 **josh:** yeah id definitely cry 

 **tyler:** id provide weed and alcohol for the hypothetical birthday tbh but since it would be ur birthday id wanna f o o l a r o u n d if you get what i mean ;) ;) ;) so i wouldnt want u impaired 

 **josh:** fool around 

 **tyler:** mess around

 **tyler:** Do Things

 **tyler:** the deed 

 **josh:** but stoned sex is great 

 **josh:** have u ever had sex while stoned 

 **tyler:** nope 

 **josh:** BOI

 **josh:** fuk im hard thinking about it 

 **josh:** like ok if ur so high that u cant even feel anything then No, Do Not Do The Deed

 **josh:** but if ur like... a little high then its fucking awesome 

 **josh:** also depends on wtf youre smoking 

 **tyler:** its weed 

 **tyler:** isnt it all the same 

 **josh:** B O I 

 **josh:** fuck no

 **josh:** theres like 102931039450685432 different strains of weed

 **tyler:** ok but like i said. its weed 

 **josh:** ok but like 

 **josh:** theres different strains that do different things 

 **josh:** like i forgot the name but its something thats fucking stupid but it makes u hallucinate super fucking wildly like both auditory and visual shit 

 **josh:** then theres Good Ol' Indica which is good for not feeling a fucking thing like if you have a headache or if youre achy or anything smoke some of that and u wont feel ANYTHING

 **josh:** like if i smoke enough i cant even taste anything which really takes the joy out of inhaling everything i see

 **tyler:** hoe i was gonna try sexting you but now you got me interested in how tf weed works jesus christ 

 **josh:** why didnt you say something wtf i was kinda hard too but now im preachy about we*ed 

 **tyler:** fuck

\---

 **josh:** [image attached]

 **tyler:** oh wow

 **josh:** this time it wasnt an accident oops 

 **tyler:** i would literally pay millions Just to touch ur thigh 

 **josh:** i would pay millions for you to fuck me at this exact second 

 **tyler:** honey you dont have to pay for that to happen like ill do that for free hell ill even pay YOU

 **josh:** dont call me honey 

 **tyler:** does it offend you

 **josh:** no it makes me gay and subby af

 **tyler:** wtff youre so cute

 **josh:** shhhhh

 **tyler:** no never >:(

\---

 **josh:** i am anxiety 

 **tyler:** dont 

 **josh:** :'( 

 **josh:** i had a shit day at work and what i really need right now is someone to fuck me Really Good the treat me like a prince afterward 

 **tyler:** i volunteer as tribute 

 **josh:** omg gay 

 **tyler:** i would 100% dick you down rn if i could 

 **josh:** id 100% accept the offer

 **josh:** *grabby hands* pls 

 **tyler:** ill start walking from ohio to wherever ur at in bumfuck california 

 **josh:** ill be waiting, legs and arms open 

 **tyler:** lmfao 

\---

 **josh:** can i talk to you about something 

 **tyler:** yea of course 

 **josh:** do you wanna meet 

 **josh:** like ok sorry i feel super creepy asking that but ive been super anxious over it so i wanted to like say something before i chickened out and ended up regretting it or something 

 **josh:**  im gonna be visiting my parents soon and they live in columbus and i know you live in ohio and probably close to columbus since you said u had a full ride to ohio state but anyways the point is the possibility is there and i am going to go hide under a rock for a few days until i have the nerve to look @ my messages ok 

 **tyler:** jesus that was the worst time for me to choose to make something to eat 

 **tyler:** babe you dont gotta go hide :( 

 **tyler:** honestly im down?? like ive been half tempted to blow some of my minimal savings on a trip to cali at some point so idk

\---

spookyboy: so i get to meet josh soon and im gonna cry im so excited

tags: _#josh tag, #gay things, #im gonna give him like 500 hugs ok_

 

_stillstreet reblogged your post: "fucking homo (ily pls give me all hugs maybe a little dic*k)"_

\---

 **tyler:** "maybe a little dick"

 **tyler:** boi u gettin ALL of dis di*c*k 

 **josh:** idk if im more excited for ur dick or ur hugs 

 **josh:** wait where would we even do the do at 

 **tyler:** idk im not out 

 **josh:** im out but like

 **josh:** shit 

 **josh:** I Want Dick I Am Here For Dick Where It At 

 **tyler:** u will get dick i refuse to let you leave without dick 

 **josh:** dude im getting hard rn fuck 

 **tyler:** pics or it didnt happen

 **josh:** [image attached]

 **josh:** just barely but its happening 

 **tyler:** ive never called a dick cute before but 

 **tyler:** ur dick is cute 

 **tyler:** i want that In My Mouth 

 **josh:** feel free to continue 

 **tyler:** im serious i wanna suck you off so bad holy shit 

 **tyler:** i want you hard and leaking in my mouth

 **tyler:** i want to get you so desperate and needy that you try fucking my mouth and i want to hear the way you'd whine when i told you to knock it off and not to be greedy

 **tyler:** i want your hands pulling on my hair and i want your thick thighs  _shaking_ just bc i bet youd be sooo turned on

 **josh:** i reallyreallyreally want you to bend me over and shove my face into a pillow while you fuck me within an inch of my life 

 **tyler:** yeah? maybe if you asked nicely i'd consider it.

 **tyler:** tho i wouldnt mind seeing you bent over for me

 **josh:** hhh get on skype 

\---

_stillstreet: when daddy doesn't give me attention i go extreme measures. @spookyboy_

_spookyboy: bb i was at work ok :( ill give you all the attention you want as soon as i get home i promise (also u look hot)_

_stillstreet: reblog ur boyfriend goals_

 

 **josh:**  hurry up and get home >:( i need attention

 **tyler:** i had a shit day so u better give me some attention too 

 **tyler:** like just walk from california to here and let me sleep on u

 **josh:** #ProtectDaddy2k17

 **tyler:** ldfkjgh lmao omg 

 **tyler:** whats w/you and calling me daddy today holy shit 

 **josh:** 1\. im gay 2. ur gay 3. because i can also 4. u are daddy. thats it.

 **tyler:** ok i just thought of this but how tall are you 

 **josh:** 5'7" yike

 **josh:** how tall are you 

 **tyler:** 6'2"

 **tyler:** im tall and lanky lol

 **josh:** and im short, sorta chubby, sorta muscular 

 **tyler:** boi u arent chubby 

 **josh: [** image attached]

 **josh:** watch out for my body rolls, watch out for my body rolls, high kicks high kicks, this is how we do it

 **tyler:** im gonna fucking fight you im going to have that shit stuck in my head for a week jesus christ 

 **josh:** no but fr lookit 

 **tyler:** dude every one has rolls when theyre sitting like u think my gay ass is all smooth all the time like no i got body rolls out the ass 

 **josh:** s t i l l

\---

 

 

 **tyler:** not to be gay or anything but ur really cute

 **josh:** tyler

 **josh:** you're gay

 **josh:** and you're literally my boyfriend 

 **tyler:** NOT TO BE GAY OR ANYTHING BUT UR REALLY CUTE

 **josh:** TYLER. YOU ARE GAY. YOU ARE LITERALLY MY BOYFRIEND

 **tyler:** not to be gay, but im gay

 **josh:** oh my god 

 **josh:** get on skype you big homo 

\---

 **josh:** good news: columbus? tomorrow.

 **josh:** bad news: theres no bad news 

 **tyler:** bitch 

 **tyler:** u gonn get that dicc

 **josh:** but first

 **josh:** u gotta hug me, then wine and dine me, then u gotta, like, let me sleep on u

 **tyler:** but why would i do that when i could like

 **tyler:** idk. do that.

 **josh:** you. are gay.

\---

_spookyboy: list of things i like about josh so far: his eyes because they're all round and hes always all doe eyed looking up at me its the cutest thing ive ever seen, his hair because its a mess but its so soft kind of like cotton candy a very teal cotton candy, his ass because honestly i didnt realize how awesome his ass is, his lips cause they're somehow always, like, red as shit, and also because he's good at kissing, his smile because it is literally sunshine and he has blinded me ten thousand times because he smiles a lot, and, like, literally everything else about him he is perfect no one can take this opinion away from me_

_stillstreet: when will tyler stop being gay_

_stillstreet: ok but i feel compelled to copy him_

_stillstreet: list of things i like about tyler so far: he is very tall and i like it, his teeth are pretty cute, HIS lips because holy shit talk about goals, his ass because although it's not as great as mine it's still pretty fun to touch, his thighs, his leg hair (? idk i find it cute for some reason), his choice in underwear like ive never seen someone wear floral briefs before and its sooo cute holy shit, his dick of course like that shit... boi it thicc, his hair is always sticking up and its adorable like whenever he wakes up in the morning its sticking up on whichever side he slept on, the way he looks whenever he wakes up in general though because hes so grumpy, and also i just,,, hes so amazing how he do it_

_spookyboy: yet his bitch ass tells ME to stop being gay............. smh_

_stillstreet: tyler i have notifs on for you fuck off_

\---

 **josh:** stop being at work your family is awkward and weird 

 **tyler:** what are they doing 

 **josh:** well

 **josh:** your mom keeps looking at me then looking away like she wants to say something??

 **josh:** your little brother like the super young one keeps staring at my tattoos

 **josh:** your other brother keeps giving me looks and i cant tell if hes angry or if he just has a resting bitch face

 **josh:** your sister isn't really doing anything other than doing her nails at the kitchen table

 **josh:** and your dad isn't really doing anything either like hes just chilling and watching TV

 **tyler:** im gonna assume ur talking about zack and ur right he has a resting bitch face idk how he does it

 **tyler:** jay is four let him live

 **tyler:** my mom does that idk she has anxiety like i both look like her and ALSO have anxiety

 **tyler:** try talking to my mom tho shes super friendly just afraid of people like bithc me too 

 **tyler:** my dad doesn't ,, speak english

 **tyler:** like he does but he's not very good at it

 **tyler:** he'd probably say something to you but it'd be some weird mish-mash of english and arabic 

 **tyler:** also i havent told them im gay but like...  _i think they know_

 **josh:** we kissed in front of them and you're like super affectionate if they dont know then im surprised ok

 **tyler:** ur family is weird too though 

 **tyler:** like they're all the creepy "i'm going to stare at you until you look away then im going to continue staring at you" kind of people and its weird 

 **tyler:** your mom intimidates me, your dad seems chill but hes also intimidating, your one sister like the skinny one looks a little scary, ur other sister seems nice but also scary, and your brother looks almost exactly like you and he asks many questions

 **josh:** mom is super nice, dad is super nice, ashley is super nice, abigail is super nice but kinda awkward, and jordan is extremely awkward but hes shameless about it and hes also super nice

 **tyler:** how is ur family so nice what the fuck

 **josh:** idk it happens

 ---

 **josh:** whats your type

 **bread:** what

 **josh:** your type. when you're into guys whats your type

 **bread:** i want to say i dont have a type but every guy i've dated has been tall, pretty, and funny 

 **josh:** ok well

 **josh:** i think one of tylers friends is ur type

 **bread:** whats he like

 **josh:** for starters he's asexual BUT hes gay af just,,, doesnt do the sex thing. thats what he himself told me

 **bread:** ok what he look like 

 **josh:** he's suuuuuper tall like 6'4" i think idk and he's suuuuuuper pretty but he's also super handsome like ??? jesus IM gay for him

 **bread:** pics, hoe

 **josh:** [image attached]

 **josh:** he cute 

 **bread:** o fucc

 **bread:** he is cute :( 

 **bread:** personality tho

 **josh:** he's super nice, he's funny but in this like dry and subtle sort of way, he's awkward, and he's kind of nerdy

 **bread:** fuckin. introduce me a s a p .

\---

 **josh:** ok so when i met tyler i didnt believe him when he told me he was a dom because of the way he talks via text but like... i've been around him for four days and BOI

 **brendon:** did u get dicc

 **josh:** ive gotten dicc like twice already

 **josh:** fuuuck

 **josh:** hes aaaaawesome

 **josh:** hes super nice but also a freak in bed which is perfect for me 

 **brendon:** im gonna steal him

 **josh:** No, He Is My Daddy

 **brendon:** fucking

 **brendon:** relatable!

 **josh:** im literally tempted to move back to ohio as soon as i get my degree bc of the dicc holy shit

 **josh:** also he's probably gonna end up being an NBA player so i guess im the trophy wife [eyes emoji]

 **brendon:** big nut 

\---

_**bread** has added  **josh** and  **tyler** to the conversation_

**bread:** so i have a fucking bone to pick with you josh

 **tyler:** im sitting right next to him why am i here also where tf did you get my kik 

 **bread:** its on ur tumblr so sit down also i need a witness 

 **bread:** why,,, tf, didnt you tell me,,, tyler's friend was NOT ONLY my type, but EVEN MORE my type because he's like old as shit 

 **tyler:** chill he's 27

 **josh:** why are you friends with a 27 year old 

 **tyler:** dont kinkshame me 

 **tyler:** (he subbed for one of my classes)

 **josh:** odd school that you went to

 **tyler:** substituted* jesus christ IM kinkshaming YOU

 **josh:** also brendon you're 21 thats not THAT bad of an age difference 

 **tyler:** i mean u could be like my parents my dads 50 something and my mom is barely in her forties 

 **josh:** yeah but your parents are super in love and that shit

 **tyler:** u right...

 **bread:** you know what i need

 **bread:** i need some dick

 **josh:** same

 **tyler:** also same

 **josh:** brb

 **bread:** you guys are gross 

\---

 **josh:** so i think the worst feeling in the world, next to opening a box of swiss rolls only to find that you ate the last one during a depression fueled binge, is the feeling u get after being separated from ur aaaaaaaaawesome boyfriend for an undetermined amount of time 

 **josh:** i am fucking sad 

 **tyler:** same 

 **tyler:** come back you can live under my bed or something 

 **josh:** totally would but i have work tomorrow ://// shoot me thanks 

 **tyler:** *cocks gun*

 **josh:** need me a freak like that

 **tyler:** you HAVE freak like that 

 **josh:** u right

\---

 **josh:** gay culture is dropping a plate then collapsing into a mess of tears because youre mentally unstable 

 **tyler:** same but also are you ok

 **josh:** no there's a shattered plate in my kitchen and i've been in my living room crying for the past two hours 

 **josh:** kids, this is why u dont develop anxiety and this is why u dont bottle things up

 **tyler:** im going to come over and hold u until u fall asleep then im gonna go clean that plate up for u

 **josh:** Thatd Be Nice 

 **tyler:** it would 

 **tyler:** because like

 **tyler:** heres the thing

 **tyler:** ohio state isnt the only school interested in me 

 **josh:** didnt you say u were gonna go to ohio state

 **tyler:** well yeah but UCLA's been breathing down my neck too

 **tyler:** i was gonna just go to ohio because i live here but that was also a decision i made like eight months ago before i met u 

 **tyler:** so its a possibility is what im saying

 **tyler:** like okay i was going to just keep going to ohio state like i had planned but then i MET YOU met you like in person and my gut was like Tyler, If You Do Not Go To UCLA  You Will Kill Yourself

 **josh:** are you serious 

 **tyler:** do u want pictures of all those school documents 

 **tyler:** im dead ass

 **josh:** u do realize im super high maintenance right 

 **tyler:** well yeah 

 **josh:** like suuuper high maintenance 

 **tyler:** Bitch So Am I You Think I'm Always Chill And Calm

 **josh:** no but ur the daddy here 

 **tyler:** dude shut up and be excited >:(

 **josh:** see im too anxious to be properly excited right now but trust me i am

\---

 **josh:** what do 

 **bread:** what 

 **josh:** tyler's having a really bad anxiety attack and idfk what to do because i'm on the other side of the country and i really want to help but idk how and im close to having one myself bc im so worried 

 **bread:** are you talking to him??

 **josh:** yeah like im on skype rn not on video but he's just like talking and freaking out and idk wtf to do ugh ;-; i try saying things but they dont come out right and i just Want To Die 

 **bread:** ok so like 

 **bread:** i kno ur kind of a bitch ass and Cannot take charge in literally any situation but like

 **bread:** try getting him to take care of himself i guess 

 **josh:** how 

 **bread:** like tell him to go get water & maybe a bite to eat & if he takes any medications for anxiety or panic attacks or whatever tell him to take those 

 **bread:** and probably also try getting him to breathe if hes having trouble w that idk

 **bread:** i mean i've walked you through enough anxiety/panic attacks to know the drill I guess so just ,,, try doing that 

 **josh:** ill try hh

 **bread:** tell me if hes ok :( 

\---

 **josh:** ok so update: he's good just super exhausted and kind of weepy still idk im still talking to him & trying my best to be comforting 

 **bread:** goode 

 **josh:** see i hate ldrs because if i was with him irl i would've been all over him because im better at this shit in person :(

 **bread:** ok like i super feel you 

 **bread:** because that guy tyler introduced me to or whatever like 

 **bread:** we've been talking and Lo And Fuckin Behold, he has hella body image issues & anxiety and i feel terrible because i just want to give him hugs always 

 **josh:** hows it going with him anyways 

 **josh:** he seemed pretty cool when i talked to him when i was visiting tyler 

 **bread:** it's going alright 

 **bread:** i kinda like him 

 **bread:** ok so you know how when i was dating sarah and to some extent Ryan The Tyrant like 

 **bread:** i jumped into both of those relationships super fast i was only friends with sarah for a few months and almost as soon as i realized i had feelings for The Tyrant i was all over him 

 **bread:** w this asshole its like 

 **bread:** its going super slow 

 **bread:** and not in a bad way i guess but he straight up told me that he doesnt like rushing into relationships and that its an anxiety thing and i get it and like

 **bread:** idk its weird hes also ace so sex isn't a thing and probably wont be a thing and in all of the relationships ive been in sex has been like . one of the main things 

 **bread:** its weird but its actually nice not to have a relationship that isn't focused solely on sex 

 **josh:** i feel 

 **josh:** sex is like a pretty relevant part of my relationship w tyler and i only tell you about our sexcapades but hnstly most of the time we just chill lol i mean the last few times i've called him it's been on either rabbit or discord and we were watching movies on rabbit then using this like bot thing on discord to listen to music?? it was chill

 **bread:** good u guys are cute 

\---

 **tyler:** if ur embarrassed about having the worst panic attack of your life in front of your boyfriend clap ur hands

 **tyler:** *clap clap*

 **josh:** :( don't be embarrassed its ok

 **josh:** im here for you always 

 **josh:** our relationship isnt one sided ur allowed to come to me about this stuff 

 **josh:** i dont expect you to be mister perfect all the time :( (even when you aren't perfect you're still perfect to me)

 **tyler:** hhh 

 **tyler:** just like. i need to cuddle with you and i need you to run your fingers through my hair and tell me everythings gonna be okay 

 **tyler:** idk why but today im having a hard time believing that like can i stop having anxiety thanks???

 **josh:** also i mean idk im assuming this is your first actual relationship with anyone and i've been in a few serious relationships before so i know the drill i guess and maybe its my fault for just assuming youd just know that youre allowed to come to me about stuff but idk

 **tyler:** no its not your fault im just stupid 

 **tyler:** i mean i did come to you because your voice kind of just,,, helped me calm down but i dont know how relationships actually work when it comes down to it like im just winging it at the moment 

 **josh:** i mean im not some relationship wizard so dont assume that im NOT winging it but u kno 

 **tyler:** i love you

 **josh:** oh 

 **josh:** i was gonna wait for a romantic or emotional time to drop this but

 **josh:** i love you too 

\---

 **josh:** another update: HE SAID HE LOVES ME HOLY SHIT

 **bread:** ok did u say it back

 **josh:** YES??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? im gay

\---

 **josh:** i saw ur selfie on tumblr and dead ass just... fuck me up daddy

 **tyler:** will do

 **tyler:** ok definitely tmi but ive been hard like all day 

 **tyler:** not hard enough that it's obvious but hard enough that im annoyed because it either needs to go away or i need to find some alone time 

 **tyler:** or maybe u should come over 

 **josh:** dude no not today

 **josh:** today's the kind of day that i'd tease you like i wouldnt make it any better

 **tyler:** define teasing 

 **josh:** find excuses to be sneaky about touching ur dick but then never letting you bust ur nut or sitting in your lap and wiggling my hips but still not letting u nut 

 **tyler:** ur the worst and also NOW its obvious

 **josh:** but wait i didnt finish 

 **josh:** after teasing you for however long youd get to fuck the everloving shit out of me so it works out 

 **tyler:** after a day of that you'd so be getting bent over a counter somewhere 

 **tyler:** what are you wearing today

 **josh:** [image attached]

 **josh:** i call this the "fuck me daddy" outfit

 **tyler:** it's workign daddys def gonna fuck you

 **josh:** boi

 **josh:** why tf are you even busy why cant u go jack off 

 **tyler:** im busy packing my shit since im moving out hoe

 **tyler:** get on skype tho im taking a break

\---

  **josh:** where do you even actually live at like idk i never asked but we've known each other for like five years

 **brendon:** dude i live in malibu i thought i told you

 **josh:** r u for real like ive lived in LA for EONS--

 **brendon:** i mean i've lived here for maybe eight months but still

 **josh:** well shit we need to hang out

 **josh:** also what i meant to tell u

 **josh:** tyler's gonna be here tomorrow and im boutta bust a big fat nut

 **josh:** by that i mean im excited but nervous 

 **josh:** i can't sleep and i wanna talk to him or get on skype but he's sleeping & his laptop and all that are already packed with his stuff that he's bringing??

 **josh:** hh

 **brendon:** would me talking about my gay shit help

 **josh:** yeah honestly 

 **brendon:** ok so fuckin

 **brendon:** dreamboat ace guy tyler introduced me to

**brendon:** _boi_

**brendon:** he's apparently moving this summer too and u know where he's moving to

 **brendon:** LA

 **brendon:** he has a job offer in LA or some bullshit and im like

 **brendon:** nervous? do i meet him? do i just continue to not tell him exactly whereabouts i live??

 **josh:** honestly do whatever ur comfortable with 

 **josh:** i mean i was dating debby for three years but never met her until like a year after we broke up lol? but then i met tyler within 6 months of meeting him

 **brendon:** he's cute tho? i'm literally disgusting in comparison to him??? bruh?

 **josh:** half of me is gonna be like "do whatever ur comfortable with :)" but the other half is like "fucking meet him already you twit" i mean its been like two months since you started talking to him but still 

 **brendon:** i have anxiety ok 

 **josh:** bitch so do i??? in ur gut once ur past ur anxiety what's goin' on

 **brendon:** "ilovehimilovehimilovehim" 

 **brendon:** which is super fucking gay

 **josh:** ok meet him bithc

\---

 **josh:** post tyler moving in with me sex life update: i forgot that i'm the only person he's ever been sexually active with besides a few flings here and there and basically he found the  _stash_ and suddenly wants to experiment like every single night 

 **bread:** bruh 

 **bread:** what kind of experimenting 

 **josh:** well last night 

 **josh:** he fucked me within an inch of my life 

 **josh:** which isn't really  _new_ i suppose, except this time a ball gag and handcuffs were tossed into the mix

 **bread:** BRUH

 **josh:** did i tell you about the time he tried making me top

 **josh:** it worked out for about ten seconds

 **bread:** why did it stop working out

 **josh:** he accidentally pulled my hair

 **bread:** ur my friend who hella fucks w having his hair pulled right 

 **josh:** yes

 **bread:** explain that situation to me tho like

 **bread:** what happened

 **josh:** ok so i was going down on him and fingering him a bit and he's like

 **josh:** he's super touchy-feely and basically like

 **josh:** ok so he's good at fingering me like knows what a prostate is and all that

 **josh:** but fuckin APPARENTLY he's never bothered to like 

 **josh:** finger himself

 **josh:** and lbr i'm a pretty handy man if u get what i mean hahadhhf h8 myself and like

 **josh:** his bitch ass fuckin yanks on my hair out of shock and like i promise you i tried to keep going but he kept pulling my hair

 **josh:** and we ended up having to just stop altogether because i was hella spacing out 

 **josh:** i wasn't in a good headspace to be having sex w him and if anything sexual happened beyond that point it wouldn't have been a very gucci situation ygm

 **bread:** hes like good to u and all that right 

 **josh:** hella

 **josh:** honestly i thought id have to walk him through things like aftercare n stuff but he's pretty good about it 

 **josh:** our only problem is that i'm built like a brick shit house and he's kind of scrawny so he cant carry me it's homophobic tbh ://

\---

 **tyler:** ok but you're my best friend so who do i go to when we fight 

 **josh:** idk

 **tyler:** im sorry ok 

 **tyler:** im just exhausted an stessed i didnt mean to snap at you

 **josh:** ok

 **tyler:** can we not with the one word answers

 **josh:** idk can you not scream at me over me being clingy at the wrong moment lol

 **josh:** i mean ok sure i get it i come on a little too strong but a "josh i need space" is much better than yelling at me esp when we both know full well that i have anxiety & sensory issues :)

 **tyler:** i didnt even yell at you

 **tyler:** i raised my voice???

 **josh:** and???

 **josh:** it sounded like yelling to me and either way the effect was still the same 

 **josh:** what about all that shit about people yelling at me being dicks and needing to fuck off??? does that suddenly go out the window when ur the one yelling like are you the exception lol

 **tyler:** okay youre overreacting 

 **tyler:** i said sorry i've said it out loud i've written it down i've said it in arabic i've said it on kik what the fuck else do i have to do

 **josh:** fuck off 

\---

 


	31. glee.odt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yep i fuckin did it i tried writing a fic for glee bc i was dissatisfied with finns death  
> also yeah blah blah cory monteith i know calm down i was still dissatisfied tho  
> formatting is a little wonky bc its not finished

kurt's fifteen and doodling pictures of hearts and james dean in a notebook instead of paying attention to mr. schue's spanish lesson when the counselor, ms. pillsbury, pokes her head into the room. kurt rolls his eyes at the way mr. schue's face lights up, because, for crying out loud, _he's married,_ but the eye rolling shenanigans are cut off when ms. pillsbury is whispering something into mr. schue's ear, and he sees both of them giving him _looks._

 

they're the looks people gave him when his mother died when he was four. when he's being told to gather his things and leave with ms. pillsbury, he's mentally repeating a mantra of, _"please don't be dad, please don't be dad,"_ in his head, over and over.

 

on the way to her office, kurt asks, "what happened?" he's clutching his notebooks close to his chest, and he figures he's going to have paper cuts on his hands from how hard he's gripping the edges of them.

 

"well, um..." ms. pillsbury frowns and bites at the inside of her bottom lip while they're walking. she's clenching and unclenching her fists, a nervous tic that kurt has picked up on. "let's wait until we're sitting down, yeah?"

 

_sitting down is never a good sign._

 

kurt's relieved when he sees the flannel collar of his dad's shirt peeking up through his vest. his sense of fashion is godawful, but kurt's glad to see it for once. _at least it isn't dad._

 

once kurt's seated, and once ms. pillsbury is seated across from them, behind her desk, kurt's asking, "dad? what are you doing here...?"

 

"it's finn," the man says, voice cracking and sounding broken.

 

"what about him?" kurt's speaking slowly and deliberately. finn does stupid stuff sometimes. he's in college; it's bound to happen. kurt gets that. he just doesn't get why he had to be pulled out of class for another one of his... _situations._

 

burt tries speaking, tries explaining, but he cant. he breaks eye contact with kurt, and motions towards ms. pillsbury, silently pleading with her, asking her to tell kurt what he can't.

 

kurt looks to her. he's confused. he wants to know what the hell's going on. he wants to be told that finn got suspended for throwing a wild party, or something like that, or that maybe finn got into another fight with rachel because he just--he's kind of dumb like that sometimes, but if it were either of those things, burt wouldn't be here, close to tears, and ms. pillsbury wouldn't have pulled him out of class.

 

"well, kurt," ms. pillsbury starts, slowly. she's looking at kurt with her stupid, wide, brown doe eyes, and that's really one of the last things kurt registers before _overdose_ and _suicide_ and _i'm so sorry._ after that, all he can register is a low hum, a buzzing in his ears. that's all his brain wants to let him hear. maybe it's for the best, that he can't process things right now.

 

\---

 

carole's in the bedroom, and burt's with her, trying to console her.

 

kurt sits on the couch downstairs, staring off into space, and finn's girlfriend, rachel, is sitting next to him. kurt doesn't like rachel that much. it's not that she's a bad person, it's just that he hasn't gotten the chance to know her yet, and he finds her sort of annoying.

 

it's not like either of them know what to do. rachel just lost her boyfriend, and kurt just lost his big brother. it's hasn't even been a day yet. kurt hasn't even cried. he just shut down as soon as he was told the news. he hasn't spoken, he hasn't eaten, and he's barely even responded to anyone that's talked to him.

 

rachel hasn't tried talking to him. she's been crying, kurt could see that. or, well, either she was crying, or she's really stoned. kurt goes with crying, though. she's not crying at the moment. she's just sitting next to him, staring at nothing, not moving, barely even breathing.

 

bitterly, kurt thinks to himself about how this is sort of a bonding experience.

 

\---

 

kurt doesn't speak. he tries, but he cant, so he tries to get by on vague hand gestures.

 

the funeral, finn's funeral, is... surreal.

 

there's a pastor, delivering a eulogy. no one in their family is particularly religious, except rachel, who's jewish, but she's not the kind of person who stuffs her beliefs down everyone's throats. the pastor being there is more or less a formality; it's what you do during funerals.

 

kurt's staring blankly at the casket. rachel's holding his hand, squeezing it tight enough to hurt, but kurt doesn't really care, because he's doing the same to her. either of them are trying to keep their shit together. they haven't even spoken to each other, but kurt feels like they have some sort of nonverbal agreement. what that agreement is, exactly, he's not sure, but it's there.

 

\---

 

_you and carole are the only ones who've read the note. what did it say? why?_

 

kurt slides a piece of paper towards rachel. she's been sticking around the hudson-hummel household. carole loves her like a daughter, so she doesn't mind, and burt gets it. he gets why she's sticking around. he also gets that kurt needs someone to talk to, and if it just so happens to be rachel berry, then so be it.

 

rachel doesn't verbally respond to him. she kind of can't, or so kurt assumes. this stuff is sort of hard to say out loud. she motions for him to hand her his pen so she can write back in her own, swirly, and cute script.

 

_the note said that he didn't feel like his life was going anywhere. everyone was moving ahead, but he was stationary; that's how he felt apparently. i didn't even know this stuff was going on. i knew he's been off lately, but i didn't know it was this bad. he should've gone into acting. he's good at it._

 

kurt huffs, silently, and cracks a bit of a bitter half grin.

 

\---

 

within the first two months following finn's death, rachel sort of becomes kurt's big sister. everyone's getting fed up with kurt, since he still hasn't spoken a word. he doesn't even know why he's so shaken up about finn's death.

 

okay, he does know, but he doesn't know why he can't talk. he tries, and he knows he physically can, but his voice won't come out. it gets caught in this throat, and he feels like his throat is closing up every time he tries.

 

rachel gets the not talking thing, though, and kurt realizes she's especially kind.

 

rachel--she's an actress, on broadway. she's taking a hiatus, and she's dropped out of a bunch of the play's she was in, since she needs time to herself. she has money, though. she's not a millionaire or anything, but she has a pretty hefty savings account, at least for a twenty three year old, and she sits down with kurt one afternoon, and makes a suggestion.

 

"do you want to learn sign language together?" her voice sounds oddly optimistic and chipper. kurt mentally squints at her. "i think it might help. everyone's trying to make you talk, and maybe this could be your way of talking--using sign language. i mean, obviously you don't have to, but i just--i assume writing everything you want to say down and showing people can get tiring after a while. this would be easier, and, well, there's a lot more people who know sign language than you think."

 

_where would we learn it at?_

 

"the lima civic center offers a two month course, and ohio state has a summer class that we could take together if you wanted. it'd be a free college credit, if you ever decide to go to college."

 

kurt doesn't like the civic center in lima. it's smells like mildew, and it's low budget. he doesn't think learning sign language there would be possible.

 

_how would i get to ohio state? i'm not going to the civic center, and columbus is an hour and a half from here._

 

"i have an apartment in columbus. you could stay with me for the summer while taking that class. we'll be roommates. wouldn't that be fun?" rachel smiles sweetly, and chuckles a little bit.

 

kurt smiles too.

 

\---

 

kurt's been to rachel's apartment in columbus a few times. he likes it there. it's a home. she has books and dvds scattered around the place, and there's a few blankets on her couch. it's not overly pristine or clean either. like he said--it's a _home._

 

finn also didn't live there with rachel. of course he didn't. he stayed in lima while rachel was in new york. this apartment isn't tainted, and either of them are able to get away from _him_ while they're there.

 

the room rachel lets him occupy is simple. there's a vanity in one corner, a desk in another, then a full sized bed with a simple and tasteful bed set on it in a third corner.

 

true to herself, rachel goes off on a bit of a tangent, talking talking _talking,_ and kurt lets her. he'd find a way to smoothly interrupt her and get her to shut up, but he sort of can't, so she talks while he unpacks one of the two suitcases he brought with him.

 

\---

 

kurt is sort of thrown off by columbus. lima isn't _that_ small, but it's not the same kind of city that columbus is. he's not really an adventurous type--kurt prefers to stay inside and read a book while sipping at a glass of tea rather than going out and doing, like, rebellious teenager things, which is why he finds it at least a little odd that he sneaks out of rachel's apartment a little after midnight a few days after arriving, just so he can... explore.

 

she lives downtown, in an area with a lot of people, and a lot of things to do. kurt kind of likes it, in a way. he doesn't like the noise and he doesn't like that he bumps into someone every few minutes but he likes the aesthetic of it all, if anything.

 

\---

 

kurt gets up early the morning after his little adventure around columbus, and cooks breakfast for himself and rachel. he's not expecting her to be up before noon, since she's just... like that, but even cold breakfast is better than no breakfast.

 

he has to stand on a step stool to cook crepes, given he's now sixteen and hasn't hit a growth spurt yet. he has about half of the batter used up when he hears the weird sticky sounds of feet on hardwood. (no one talks about it, but feet make super weird noises on hardwood and linoleum. it's weird.) he turns his head and sees rachel, who looks dead tired, walking into the general kitchen area. her hair is a mess and she's wearing a bath robe that's barely shut. kurt can still see her underwear. "what're you making?" she asks through a yawn.

 

he mouths, "crepes," as obviously as he can, even going so far as to make a 's' noise with his tongue and teeth, and rachel sighs wistfully.

 

"crepes? you have got to move in. no one's made me breakfast since..." and then her face grows downcast. kurt figures the last time anyone made breakfast for her was during one of finn's monthly visits. he smiles a little sadly, and turns back towards his pan. she starts talking again while he's finishing cooking. "nevermind what i was saying. anyways, i feel like i probably shouldn't have crepes." she's waking up more now. she gets chattier the more she wakes up. kurt's noticed that. "i've been, like, gaining weight. i mean, i get being sad, but i _cannot_ let my body go. i've got a career, y'know."

 

kurt looks at her again and nods. rachel goes on for a few minutes until kurt's finally done with making the crepes, and is gently setting the large plate holding all of them on the island in rachel's kitchen, doing a little bow, as if to say, "breakfast is served."

 

\---

 

the first day of classes (or class) at ohio state is... a little weird. just a bit. kurt holds onto the sleeve of rachel's shirt while they walk down a hallway, and he steps back about four feet the few times rachel gets stopped to sign autographs. he forgets she's sort of a big thing on broadway sometimes.

 

kurt sits in the front of the room, rachel on his right side, and he gets out a notebook and a purple gel pen. the teacher, whoever he is, is late, but when kurt catches sight of him, he almost melts, because, hey, he's hot. he's also sort of old, but he's still hot.

 

"good morning class," the man starts as he's writing his name down on the chalk board. he only talks when he's facing the class, which kurt appreciates, even though he's not deaf. he just figures it's convenient for the deaf students, and he thinks it's considerate. "my name is jesse st. james, and although i would prefer to be called jesse, mr. st. james, or mr. james works as well. seriously, though, call me jesse." there's a few chuckles in the room, plus rachel giggling, and kurt gives her a side-eyed sort of glance. she giggled like that only around finn.

 

jesse still smiles at her, though, and kurt wants to roll his eyes.

 

jesse goes over his classroom rules, and writes down his contact information, including his school number, his personal cell number, both his school and personal emails, plus his username on skype. he reminds kurt of mr. schue a little bit, in which he's a caring teacher, except he's not nearly as creepy.

 

along with that, he goes over a few basic gestures, and kurt makes sure to write them down, with a few doodles of how to sign the few words jesse teaches the class. the last twenty minutes of the class, everyone is allowed to talk, or sign freely, to practice. kurt practices on his own, looking at his notebook, and moving his hands clumsily.

 

he half pays attention to rachel, who is chatting up the girl who is sitting on the other side of her. from what he gathers, her name is either satan or santana, and she lost her hearing in some sort of accident a few months ago. he thinks it was a head injury from a car crash, but he wasn't paying _that_ much attention.

 

\---

 

after class that day, kurt makes homemade chicken noodle soup for himself and rachel. (well, vegan chicken noodle soup. it has the broth, but not the chicken.) he even makes the noodles himself. rachel compliments him on his cooking skills, and kurt gets a little flustered. people don't compliment him that often.

 

while they're eating, rachel talks about santana. "she's really cool. i got her number."

 

kurt nods, and mouths, "pretty." santana is pretty. he saw her, and if he was straight, he'd totally have a crush on her.

 

"i know. the professor is hot too, though. like... did you _see_ his pants?" she lets out a noise, and fans herself, and kurt grins and laughs silently.

 

he scribbles a response onto a notepad in front of him.

 

_there was a guy sitting near the back of the room that i thought was cute. had his hair all slicked back like some sort of greaser, and he had this cute little bowtie. did you see him?_

 

"i think i did, yeah. did he have the black button-up?"

 

kurt nods.

 

"he's a cutie. you should ask him how old he is."

 

\---

 

the next day of class, kurt snags the spot next to cute sort-of greaser guy. the guy smiles at him politely, but doesn't say anything until the last twenty minutes of class. well, actually, kurt says something, and the guy responds.

 

kurt writes in his small notebook, the one he uses to talk to people, so he can, y'know, talk to him.

 

_what's your name?_

 

the guy writes back.

 

_blaine anderson. you?_

 

_kurt hummel._

 

_are you mute or deaf?_

 

blaine apparently gets right to the point.

 

_selective mutism. you?_

 

_mute. brain damage from a thing that happened about six months ago._

 

_ah. that sucks._

 

_well, yeah, of course it sucks. i miss talking. i can kind of make a little noise, but it sounds more like i'm choking rather than talking._

 

kurt huffs quietly.

 

_i just choke up when i try talking. i've cried a few times too._

 

_well, shit. crying isn't good. do you just have anxiety?_

 

_i think so. i haven't been to a doctor about it yet. my brother killed himself about three months ago and i just... stopped talking._

 

_jeez. :( my brother is kind of an asshole, but it'd still be devastating if he did that. i can only imagine._

 

blaine is... nice. kurt already likes him. by the time he leaves, he has a phone number and a quick hug.

 

\---

 

he makes spaghetti for dinner that night.

 

_i got the cute boy's number. his name is blaine anderson, he's fifteen, and he's funny._

 

"ooh." rachel grins slightly. "i talked to santana a bit more. she's funny too, but in this dry, subtle sort of way. i think i'm going to _invite her over_ to practice sign language, and _maybe_ get up to some other extracurricular activities."

 

kurt makes a face.

 

_i'm going to text blaine after we're done eating._

 

"good. you need more friends."

 

\---

 

 **kurt:** is this blaine?

 **unknown:** yep.

 **kurt:** thank goodness. i'm kurt. obviously. or hopefully obviously.

 **blaine:** haha, it was obvious to me. don't worry :)

 **kurt:** so. what's up?

 **blaine:** just got done with dinner! working on some of my summer homework for school. #privateschoollife. hbu?

 **kurt:** ooh, fancy. i just got done eating too. made dinner for me and my sort of sister in law.

 **blaine:** i suppose it's fancy. tuition is ridiculous, so it better be fancy, y'know?

 **kurt:** yeah, i'd hope so. :) is it too creepy to ask what private school?

 **blaine:** not at all! i go to dalton academy.

 **kurt:** seriously? damn. that sounds awesome. i go to mckinley high in lima. low budget public school life lol

 **blaine:** it's better than no school :)

 

\---

 

a few weeks pass. kurt really clicks with blaine, and he watches as rachel and santana click, but also as rachel and jesse click as well.

 

that's not really the important part at that point in time, though. the important part happens in the evening after rachel gets home from a routine check up with her doctor. she looks distraught, and when kurt slowly spells out, _"what's wrong?"_ in sign language, she lets out a sort of shaky sigh, and says, "i'm pregnant."

 

his eyes widen. _"what? how?"_

 

"the last--the last time i slept with anyone was a few weeks before finn... you know. and--and we didn't use protection, but we never do, but nothing ever happened, and i know i've--i've been gaining weight, but i--i just thought it was because i've been stress eating, but then i went to my doctor and ended up getting _tested_ for that, and the test came back positive, so they did an ultrasound, and i--i just." rachel sits down next to him on the couch, face in her hands, and kurt is just a _little_ awkward as he leans close and hugs her.

 

\---

 

rachel spends a night crying. kurt doesn't think she's sad, or upset, or at least _that_ sad or upset. at first she was anxious, but she had this _moment,_ and then she was sort of... happy. in a way. she tells kurt that she was sort of upset that finn wouldn't ever have the chance to have children, that the hudson family wouldn't be carried on through him, but now that's _all_ happening. kurt's a little excited about being an uncle.

 

two weekends after she finds out, her and kurt travel back to lima so rachel can break the news to carole and burt. kurt's sitting off to the side in one of the arm chairs, sipping at a mug of chamomile tea as rachel says, "i'm pregnant."

 

carole asks her why she's telling them, and rachel explains. carole cries, both tears of happiness and sadness, and burt smiles proudly. a lot of hugs are exchanged that night.

 

kurt stays home while rachel breaks the news to her own fathers.

 

\---

 

kurt hangs out with blaine outside of class one afternoon. rachel's nice enough to drive him to westerville, and says she'll pick him up again some time that evening.

 

kurt kind of likes blaine's house, or his room, at least. it's not super neat, and it's not super messy. he also has fancy things, like a tv, and a play station, plus a futon and his bed, and even a desk with a computer on it. kurt doesn't have any fancy things like that at home.

 

they communicate a little bit in broken sign language, and kurt has to refer to his notebook of translations a few times, but either way they still have fun, and, okay, kurt _really_ likes blaine. it's not like he's _in love_ or anything, but... they get along.

 

\---

 

 _"so, what--does your little brother live with you or something?"_ santana signs, looking at kurt curiously, then looking at rachel, waiting for an answer.

 

rachel shakes her head, and slowly speaks, mostly since she's eating, and doesn't have her hands free. "not officially. he's just staying with me for the summer while we're taking that sign language course."

 

santana nods and smiles politely. kurt sort of likes her. she's kind of a bitch, and he realizes that since finn's untimely demise, he's grown remarkably good at reading people. when rachel leaves the room to use the restroom, santana leans forward, towards kurt, and signs, _"is she fat or is she pregnant?"_

 

kurt spells out 'pregnant.' and santana nods.

 

_"does she have a boyfriend?"_

 

_"no. he died a few weeks after she got pregnant and before she found out."_

 

 _"so that means i can hit on her?"_ santana asks, probably to clarify, and kurt shrugs.

 

 _"i mean, i_ guess _."_

 

\---

 

kurt hangs out on a saturday with blaine. blaine shows up at rachel's apartment, and by shows up, kurt means that blaine's parents dropped him off, then the two of them walked around downtown columbus, window shopping and chatting, sign language slightly less broken than the last time they saw each other outside of class.

 

_"there's a lesbian that's been trying to woo rachel. she doesn't even care that she's pregnant, which i find odd."_

 

_"really? that's... interesting. is rachel gay or something?"_

 

 _"bi, i think."_ kurt shrugs, and after someone bumps into him, he ends up linking his arm with blaine's. blaine doesn't question him. the only con of this is that they can't speak to each other, at least not in a timely manner.

 

\---

 

rachel isn't home by the time kurt and blaine have walked back to the apartment. they sit on the couch with an episode of that 70's show on for background noise.

 

kurt finds that his heart is fluttering and that his cheeks are burning up after blaine corrects him when he messes up signing a word. blaine had reached over, and gently moved kurt's hands and fingers into a more proper position. the little bit of contact had really struck a cord with kurt for some reason.

 

\---

 

"being pregnant isn't all it's cracked up to be," rachel mutters as she sits down on her couch. kurt's on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, studying his notes. he looks up, and asks her to elaborate.

 

rachels talks about back pain, nausea, and food cravings, and kurt half listens, just as usual.

 

\---

 

things go on for a few more months, until the end of august. kurt talks to blaine, hangs out with him on the weekends and sometimes in the evenings during the week. he spends most evenings with rachel and sometimes santana whenever she decides to come over. (santana mostly shows up just so she can have meals. she's a poor college student, and kurt's more than happy to cook enough for three. or four, since rachel eats, like, a _lot._ )

 

near the end of august, kurt goes home. he goes home and within a day he figures out that he hates it here. carole nor burt have gotten around to cleaning out finn's old room, and no one even bothers to shut the door. kurt passes by it at least four times a day.

 

by the end of september, kurt is packing more than a few suitcases, and he's staying with rachel. permanently. burt tried talking him out of it, saying that rachel was going to have a baby, that he wasn't going to want to deal with it, but kurt had shrugged and written down, _"you didn't give me much choice in getting an older brother, but it worked out. now i get a nephew or a niece,"_ on a piece of paper. he does leave out the part about getting to see blaine more often, though.

 

\---

 

kurt's studying for his psats, with blaine, one evening in september. rachel's in new york, sorting out a few things with the loft she rents there, which left kurt alone in the apartment for a month. rachel left him with enough money to get groceries, of course, and although kurt figures people would call it neglectful, leaving a sixteen year old alone in an apartment for a month, he likes the alone time, and, hey, blaine's always more than willing to come over whenever he's especially lonely.

 

this evening, for example.

 

_"glad i don't have to deal with these until next year."_

 

 _"i don't even need to take the psats."_ kurt sets his pen down on the table, and stretches. _"i want to, though, just in case."_

 

_"dalton's one of those schools that are ridiculously, like... elitist about sat scores. i've been in an sat prep class since freshman year."_

 

_"good thing i asked you to help me study, i guess."_

 

blaine snorts. _"why'd you move to columbus?"_

 

_"staying at home was too sad. they haven't cleaned my brother's room out yet, and dinner is always too quiet. it was too depressing."_

 

blaine nods and gives kurt a sympathetic smile. _"that sucks."_

 

 _"oh, no, it's lovely."_ kurt rolls his eyes to show his sarcasm. he gets up from rachel's coffee table, and heads towards the kitchen. he hears blaine following him, so he's sure to grab two bottles of grapefruit juice instead of just one. kurt slides one of the bottles across the island, towards blaine, and sets his own down in front of him to ask the question that'd been nagging him since he met blaine. _"how did you get brain damage? is it too nosy of me to ask?"_

 

blaine looks more or less surprised, honestly. kurt finds that relieving. _"i guess not. we've known each other for awhile now, so i_ suppose _it was going to come up eventually."_ blaine takes a seat on one of rachel's bar stools, and leans forward, showing the top of his head to kurt.

 

kurt watches as blaine parts his hair, and he spots a _scar._ it's about three inches long, and it's jagged. whatever it's from probably hurt like a bitch, that's for sure. when he sits back up, kurt signs to him. _"what's that from?"_

 

_"there was a dance in december last year, and i brought a boy with me. dalton is... dalton's a pretty open minded school, and there's a zero tolerance policy for bullying, but someone at that dance apparently wasn't happy to see me there with a boy, so they took a baseball bat to my head, and i haven't been able to talk since then."_

 

kurt winces. _"yikes. another reason to never come out, i guess."_

 

blaine rolls his eyes. _"i'm just unlucky. so, have you seriously not come out to anyone?"_

 

_"rachel knows, and finn_ _, my older brother, he_ _knew, but they're it. and you too, now. i probably wouldn't have to come out if i could talk. no offense to myself, but i sound pretty flamboyant."_

 

_"have you still not talked?"_

 

_"a few weeks ago i tripped getting into the shower and hit my leg on something, and i said 'shit.' that's all i've been able to say."_

 

blaine laughs, silently. _"i'm sorry, i'm sorry. i shouldn't laugh at that."_

 

_"don't get me wrong, it was hilarious. i'm just mad that all i've been able to say is 'shit.'"_

 

\---

 

kurt likes his new school. it gets a little lonely sometimes without any familiar faces, but this school isn't so bad. he ends up in the special education class after a few weeks, and although kurt wants to protest, he realizes he sort of needs it.

 

the people in that class aren't so bad either. there's a very nice girl with down's syndrome, becky, he thinks, who sits in front of him, and the girl who sits to his left, quinn, has tourettes. there's another girl on his right named brittany and kurt's pretty sure she's autistic, but he doesn't remember. she does like to lean over and whisper weird things to him once in awhile, though.

 

\---

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a rewrite of gdool that im never gonna fuckin finish

**Gay Days Of Our Lives / Support**

**REWRITE**

  


Tyler can't really say much as far as the quality of his minimal seventeen years of existence goes. He can, though, tell you that it sucks. That's one thing he can do with the utmost confidence and certainty. He figures he was probably happy once as a child, what with all the blissful, childlike innocent ignorance, but similar to all other teenagers in this world, the quality of his life, and the amount of happiness he held in his slender and lanky 5'7" frame started to go downhill the older he got.

He comes from one of _those_ families. Like, the ones with the ridiculously unrealistic expectations. He's expected to follow in certain footsteps, obviously laid out for him by his parents. And, of course, being the oldest out of four siblings, he's expected to act like a role model. It makes sense, sure, but it's still pretty sucky.

It's sucky that he's expected to get up, bright and early every freaking Sunday morning, expected to get dressed in his best clothes, and expected to kneel down, worship, and pray to a god that he doesn't think he ever really _truly_ believed in in the first place. He's expected to maintain perfect grades, obey a bunch of rules he can't even remember at this point, graduate with honors, or be the valedictorian of his year, or both, go to college, hopefully on a full ride, get a high paying job, marry a cute, doe eyed girl, all before the age of thirty, and, finally, once he hits thirty, he's expected to be living in a decent house in the suburbs of Columbus, Ohio, with a white picket fence and approximately two and a half children.

Basically, Tyler is expected to be pretty much the exact opposite of what he actually is. (He's a messy and very, _very_ gay atheist, by the way.)

As corny as it sounds, his story starts in the middle of September, 2012. He's not really sure on the exact _date,_ but he figures that it was around the thirteenth that fate started to intervene in his pathetic and sad little life. Maybe it started to intervene when he was eleven, in the midst of figuring out his sexuality, or it started to intervene when he was fourteen, and actually admitted to himself that he was gay, or, _maybe,_ it started to intervene when he told Brendon, who isn't quite his best friend, but rather a good friend, that he was gay, but personally, Tyler thinks that it started to intervene on the thirteenth of September, 2012.

Which is when he found the flyer.

Yes, the flyer.

Okay, look, not so much as _found,_ but more like he was looking at the Clubs & Activities table in his high school, trying to see if he could find at least one more thing that he could manage to squeeze onto his transcript before he graduated that'd look good to any colleges he might or might not apply to.

The flyer itself was kind of like an advertisement for a group. Tyler had looked around warily, before snatching one of the flyers from the stack after making sure no one was paying attention to him. After that, he pretty much ran like hell to his locker to put everything he didn't need away, before trying to, hopefully, get to a more private and secluded place to where he could read the flyer up close.

He ends up in the boy's bathroom in the east wing of his high school, which is about as private as he's going to get without kicking a teacher out of their room or something along the lines of that. Tyler fiddles with the flyer, picking at the edges, feeling as if it's burning in his hands as he re-reads it at _least_ five hundred times. He reads it so much that he memorizes the minor imperfections that the printer had made when the flyer had gotten printed out.

  


**LGBT+ TEEN SUPPORT GROUP**

  


**Meetings held most Fridays at 7:00 PM**

**Location: Columbus Recreational Center**

**Any changes in date, time, or location will be posted at [website].com**

**Text or Call (xxx) xxx-xxxx if you have any questions.**

**-J.**

  


After that, there's a few hotlines listed, and a few other things Tyler didn't bother to retain. He felt drawn. Feeling _drawn_ was the second strongest thing next to _forbidden._ He figures it's the damn fate thing again.

More than almost anything, he's scared. He will not deny the fear that's twisting itself up deep in his gut.

But, more than that, he's tired. He's tired of living in a constant state of shame, guilt, regret, and self-loathing. He wants to accept himself, he does. He doesn't want to feel as if he has to hide who he is, and he thinks that, maybe, just _maybe,_ he'll meet someone. Like the narrator said, it's that damn fate thing, and Tyler just feels as if this group is something he _needs_ to go to.

  


Tyler pulls Brendon aside at lunch. Tyler assumes that he looks shit, or at least scared out of his mind, since Brendon tells him as much before asking if he'd seen the ghost of his dead grandmother or something.

"Shut up. My grandparents aren't even dead. It has literally nothing to do with that. Just... Can you listen to me? I need a favor." Tyler looks around nervously, and crosses his arms.

Brendon gets a look of mock-concern on his face, before _he_ looks around, totally conspicuously, as he whispers, "Tyler, I'm not giving you a hand job."

Tyler is... mortified. Very mortified. Just... Yeah, he's mortified. He whacks Brendon in the chest with the back of his hand, and follows it with a rather stern look. “Quit that, you dick. This is serious.”

Brendon rolls his eyes, but sobers up nonetheless. He adjusts his posture slightly before asking Tyler what he actually needs.

“Can you give me a ride somewhere…? Then possibly let me spend the night at your house? Tomorrow? Please?”

“Depends on where you need a ride to, but you can stay over for sure.” Brendon clicks his tongue almost silently.

Tyler shifts. Awkwardly. He pulls the folded up flyer from that morning out of the pocket of his jeans, before handing it to the younger boy. (He's like, maybe five or six months younger than Tyler. Maybe.) Tyler watches in anticipation as Brendon reads the flyer, eyebrows going up ever so slowly as he reads through it. He doesn't say anything right away, so Tyler cuts him off before he can. “Yes or no?” _Please, just, save me the embarrassment, Brendon._

“Dude, of course I'll give you a ride. Hell, I'll go with you. For, you know, moral support.” He gives Tyler a supportive squeeze of the bicep before another thought seems to cross his mind. “Oh, uh, by the way, Pete's probably going to drop by my house tomorrow. Wouldn't put it past him.”

Tyler's met Pete on a few occasions. He seems nice enough, so Tyler is pretty sure that he's fine with it. _Though, I probably wouldn't have had much of a choice in the first place._ “Thank you so much, Brendon. Also, uh, I think this goes without saying, but if my parents call or whatever, you've got my ass covered, right?”

Brendon scoffs. “Right. Like I'm going to tell _your parents_ that I'm taking you to a gay club.”

“It's… It's not a club.”

Brendon blanks for a few seconds before the realization of what he'd said washes over him. “Support group. Same difference. Probably less alcohol, and probably less _thumpa-thumpa.”_

Tyler rolls his eyes, thanks Brendon, and gives him a quick hug.

  


Tyler's shaking and trying not to lose his lunch by the time he's at Brendon's house the next day, preparing for what he's dubbed as _it._ He's still going to go, of course, but that doesn't stop him from losing his mind.

One of the things he's afraid of is that going to the _thing_ is going to make everything real. Like, obviously everything is real anyways if you're not an existential kind of person, but Tyler's afraid that going to the group is going to solidify things, and that there will be no turning back. He's afraid of what's to come. Afraid he's going to regret everything. Afraid of doing something _wrong,_ even though he has a pretty skewed sense of what's right and wrong anymore.

Tyler, thankfully, had gotten permission from his parents to spend the weekend at Brendon's, on the condition that he got all of his homework done, and that the two of them didn't go partying or anything extreme.

Brendon had blown off Pete, and a few other friends, in favor of taking Tyler home to pack a change of clothes, then to his house to get ready, before going to _it._

Within the few hours that Tyler spends at Brendon's house, he finishes all of his homework, and changes his clothes at least three times before Brendon gets fed up with him, throwing one of his black t-shirts and a pair of his jeans at Tyler, saying, “Put those on, and _leave_ them on, or you're going to find my food taking up permanent residence in your ass.”

The same situation happens about half an hour later, but this time, it's with Tyler's hair. He spends about fifteen minutes fucking with it before Brendon had, again, gotten fed up, and ended up just doing Tyler's hair for him, with instructions to leave it the hell alone. (Brendon gives Tyler his vote of confidence, which the older of the two appreciates greatly.)

  


Come 6:57 PM, Tyler's standing outside of the rec. center, glued to his spot, trying to will away the acid that's eating at his throat and threatening to come out through his mouth. He's trying his best to listen to Brendon, who's tugging at his bicep, saying things along the lines of, “Dude, you're fine. I'm here, and you'll survive, alright? We need to get in there, though, especially since we don't know what room it's in.”

Tyler's throat closes up, and he shakes his head as tears threaten to fall from his eyes. “I can't do it. I can't do it Brendon. It's too much, too soon.”

Brendon's voice then takes on a mother-like tone as he says, “Tyler, I drove all the fucking way across Columbus to be here, and if you don't get your gay ass in there, I will _never_ drive you anywhere again, and, _yes,_ that includes school. Anyways, dude, everyone else in there is going to be gay or one of the other letters, so let's _go.”_

Tyler actually gives in this time when Brendon tugs at his bicep, allowing himself to be dragged along. He's half tempted to just go limp to make Brendon give up under the dead weight of his lanky body. Maybe taking on the form of a rag doll is a good defense mechanism. Tyler the Rag Doll. It has a nice ring to it.

The inside of the building is just a touch too complicated, and it ends up turning into a time to where Tyler is eternally grateful for Brendon's overly confident heart, since he's able to figure out where _it_ is, and leads them there. Getting Tyler into the room is about as much of a chore as it was to get him into the building, but once they're inside, well, it's… it's not what Tyler was expecting.

What Tyler was expecting was there to be a bunch of catty and effeminate gay men, similar to the ones he tends to see on TV, what with all the frilly clothing and slightly lispy voices, berating each other on their fashion choices. Instead, though, he's met with three other teenagers and a guy who is ridiculously hot and just a little too old to be a teenager, lounging around the room, on their phones, giving him and Brendon perplexed looks.

The hot-I'm-not-quite-a-teenager guy pretty much runs over to the two of them and gives either of them firm handshakes. He introduces himself as Josh, the twenty year old gay guy who normally runs the room, and Tyler has to take a few seconds to collect himself, because, _holy shit,_ even his voice is awesome. “So,” he gets a small, devious, adorable little smirk on his face as he looks between Tyler and Brendon, asking, “Newcomers?”

“Oh, _yeah,_ we're new alright. This little guy,” Brendon releases Tyler's bicep, but grabs the boy by his shoulders, and pretty much just presents him to Josh and the rest of the room, before continuing with, “is scared out of his fucking mind. I'm here mostly for moral support.”

Tyler's skin is crawling as he feels all eyes, including Josh's, on him. It's dead silent, and the look Josh the Hot Guy is giving either him or Brendon is adorable and oblivious and, okay, Tyler's head and his heart are both racing.

He's trying to figure out a way to get out of the room, suddenly afraid that one of them might go to his school, and that one of them might narc on him. Tyler doesn't know how, or who, but something's going to happen, his parents are going to find out, and, great, he fucked up. He fucked up. _Good job, Asshole._

When Tyler actually does try to leave, Brendon's on him, immediately, saying, “Oh, hell no. We're both here, you're queer, and we ain't leaving 'til it's over.”

Josh gives Tyler a slightly sympathetic look, before speaking, mostly to everyone. “We haven't had any newbies here in a good while, so, like, you all know the drill. Name, sexuality, pronouns, whatever else, and then a fun fact about yourself. I'll start. I'm Josh, I'm gay, my pronouns are he/him, and I really like sushi.”

The second person to speak is a girl with absolutely beautiful teal hair that Tyler is just absolutely transfixed with. He really wants to know how she manages to keep it such a strong shade. “I'm Ashley, I'm bisexual, my pronouns are she/her, and I love Nirvana more than I love myself.” She gives both Tyler and Brendon a sweet smile before the next person goes.

He's lanky, and probably the tallest in the room. He fidgets, and Tyler can kind of see a little bit of himself in him—wait, wait, he should rephrase that; he seems nervous too; “I'm Ryan, uh, I'm asexual, my pronouns are he and they, and I'm pretty far up John Lennon's ass.”

Brendon snorts at the last part before asking the question that was on Tyler's mind. “What's 'asexual?'”

Ryan explains that, essentially, he doesn't look at someone, then thing, “I want to fuck you,” and that there's more to it than just that, but that the explanation he'd given was the short version of it. He looks proud, and Brendon just responds with, “Sounds cool.”

The third person to go is a short guy with gigantic hipster glasses that are way too big for his round face. His hairstyle gives Tyler flashbacks to his 2010 emo phase. Yes, he had an emo phase, and, yes, he lives in constant regret of it every single day. He's wearing a leather jacket and jeans so tight that probably everyone in the room will be surprised if he doesn't lose his legs due to lack of circulation. “I'm Patrick, my sexuality is a mystery, my pronouns are he/him, and I just absolutely _love_ Foreigner.”

Aaand that's when Tyler loses Brendon. He knew that the second the word 'Foreigner' had left Patrick's mouth, Brendon would be all over him, talking about music. It's cool to see Brendon so passionate about something, but Tyler wasn't too keen on being left alone.

Brendon's the next in line for introductions. “I'm Brendon,” he glances over to Tyler, nervously, for a quick second, which earns him a curious and slightly confused look out of Tyler, before he continues with, “I'm bisexual, uh, I think my pronouns are he/him, I dunno, I'm not sure what that means, but the point is that I, too, fucking _love_ Foreigner.”

Tyler stares in shock. “You're _not_ straight?”

Brendon shrugs.

Tyler is… perplexed. Confused, maybe. He gets lost in his mind a bit before he realizes that everyone else in the room is staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to introduce himself. His face gets hot, and he tries, he really tries, but when he opens his mouth, not a word comes out. No pun intended. No one really seems impatient or annoyed, and Tyler is just—he's glad that's the one thing that isn't going wrong at the moment. He manages, eventually. “Tyler. My—my name. It's Tyler.” _Fuck._ “I'm gay, erm, my pronouns are he/him, and, uh… That's… That like… That's the second time I've ever said that I'm gay out loud.”

Ashley holds up a cup of what Tyler is going to assume is water, as if to propose a toast; “Congratulations, my man. This shit only gets easier, and things get way better from here.” Tyler manages an awkward grin before averting his gaze to a spot on the floor.

  


Once the other four people in the room go back to talking, Tyler ends up on the far side of the room, head in his hands, trying to focus on breathing properly. Brendon's next to him, rubbing his back, and not saying anything. Tyler appreciates his company a _lot._ At some point, Josh saunters over with a bottle of water. Tyler can only stare at the hand holding it out to him as he shakes his head.

Brendon, though, takes it upon himself to snatch the water from Josh so he can pretty much just force it into Tyler's hands. “Drink the water, Tyler. You're going to be _fine.”_

Tyler gulps, and unscrews the lid of the bottle with shaky hands, trying his damnedest not to spill any of it. Although he succeeds in that mission, and although he manages to even take a sip, he's still feeling sick to his stomach, and a little peeved that the water did almost nothing to calm his nerves. Of course, though, he still finds himself thanking Josh for the water.

A few moments after that, Josh asks Brendon if he can 'have a few moments alone' with Tyler, and the boy immediately thinks, _“Shit. He's going to kick me out of here because I'm too scared and a freaking wimp doesn't belong in a place like this. I have to be strong, but obviously, I'm not, and he just somehow knows and I really should've just stayed home. Fuck fuck fuck.”_

Brendon gets up, and heads towards Patrick, then Josh is taking his place on the floor next to Tyler. The younger of the two avoids eye contact, but that doesn't stop Josh from asking if he's alright. Now that pisses Tyler off. Okay, it doesn't piss him off, but Josh just sounds so _genuine,_ and it just strikes some sort of chord within Tyler.

Tyler shakes his head after realizing that his voice wasn't going to work. He looks over to Brendon, and almost winces at the sudden pang of jealous that runs through his heart. Well, more like envy. Tyler's envious of the way Brendon's able to just easily fall into conversation, and to just _fit in_ with the other teens. _Why can't I be like that? Why can't everyone like_ me? _Why am I the weird one?_ Tyler gets lost in those thoughts, until Josh is nudging him the shoulder. “Uh. Sorry. I'm just—I'm scared.”

Josh nudges him again, and in a tone laced with the slightest bit of sympathy, he starts speaking. “I get that. Here, I'll let you in on a secret: We're all at least a _little_ gay. Also, like, Patrick cried the first time he was here, so, going by that, you're doing pretty g—” and then Tyler is jumping as an empty water bottle comes flying across the room to hit Josh in the face.

“Quit fucking telling people that you piece of shit.”

Tyler can't help the gentle string of giggles that breaks loose from his throat.

Josh is laughing, and, alright, fuck, his laugh is really cute, and Tyler's heart is suddenly beating faster than it had been before. “Alright, alright—he didn't cry.”

Tyler has to will off a stupid grin as Patrick throws one last dirty look at Josh before turning back to the other three teens he'd been talking to.

“Anyways, look, if you're scared of someone being mean, well, honestly, we're all pretty nice. Patrick's… well, Patrick is Patrick, but he's usually super nice. His… _friend,_ though, can be a bit of an ass, and he's usually here, actually, but other than him, it's pretty much gay heaven.”

Tyler nods, meekly, and pulls his phone out to scroll through his home screens about ten times, before Josh informs him that the _meetings_ usually don't end until eleven, since that gives everyone time to get home before curfew.

“Why so long?'

Josh shrugs. “Mostly so we can just hang out. I mean, I know the guy who runs the rec. center, and so long as we clean up and don't leave a mess for the janitors, we're allowed to stay after hours. Some of the people who come here are here since it's better than home, or school, or wherever else. It's like… Think of it like an AA meeting, I guess. What happens here stays here, and, like, no one is going to out you. You're expected not to out anyone else, though. Just—think of it this way: it's a safe place here.”

Tyler accidentally deadpans. “You're kinda preachy.”

Josh huffs and gets him in the arm with his elbow. “I'm trying to be reassuring, dude. Indulge me. Feed my ego.”

“You're also kind of a nerd.”

“Y'know, I resent that. Hey, can I ask why you're scared?”

Tyler sighs and scratches his neck. “It… It sounds dumb, but things feel a little too real right now. I'm scared of my parents finding out about this, since they're total bible thumpers. I mean, I'm not too worried about school, since Brendon's already kept his mouth shut for three years, and since I don't think anyone else goes to my school in the first place, but, uh, yeah. I dunno if this next part is me being scared, but I don't want to be like this. I literally wish, more than _anything,_ I could be straight, but I'm not, because, apparently, Tyler Joseph can't have nice things.”

“Hey, hey, Tyler—there's nothing wrong with being gay. You like dick; so _what?_ Who cares?”

“God does,” comes Tyler's dry response.

Josh just gives him a look. “Seriously? You come from a religious household, and assuming you're Christian, isn't that whole shebang literally based around love and forgiveness? The bible is so metaphorical anyways, and it's been translated so many times, man. You shouldn't even sweat it.”

“I mean, I'm an atheist anyways. Just… I got a lot of shit to work through.” Tyler pulls his knees closer to his chest, and rests his head on his arms. “My parents think I'm at Brendon's house right now, and his parents think we're at one of his friend's house. It's kinda convoluted.”

Josh snorts. “I'm covering for Patrick, apparently. Dunno why, but I am.”

“Do you not want to, or…?”

“Oh, no, don't get me wrong, I do, but he just didn't tell me _why_ this time. Usually it's his boyfriend, who, like I said, is usuall-”

Enter empty water bottle number two, stage left, flying towards Josh's face. “He's not my boyfriend!”

Once Tyler's recovered from his laughing fit at the look on Josh's face, he responds. “Yeah, uh, maybe his friend will show. Who knows. Okay, honestly, I thought that by coming here I'd be able to talk to people, yet, here I am, being too nervous to really even make eye contact with _Brendon._ Like, I see his ugly ass almost every day, so you'd think I'd be able to at least _look_ at him.”

“Well, you're talking to me, and you make eye contact, like, once every ten minutes, so that's something. Like the name says, this place is a support group, and we're all here to support each other. It's like a circle-jerk of support. Give it a few more meetings and you'll be fine. Trust me.”

Tyler's skin grows cold when he thinks about future meetings. “I dunno if I'll be able to come to anymore, because I can only milk Brendon for so much, and my parents are kinda stingy with sleepovers.”

“Hey, man, if you're worried about rides, hit me up. I'll give you one, or I'll have someone else do it. I mean, I'm pretty sure we'd all be glad to. Here, give me your phone,” Josh makes grabby hands, and Tyler spiritually clutches his heart because it's kind of adorable. He hands his phone to josh, willingly, and watches as the man goes to his contacts and enters his own number before texting himself from Tyler's phone so he can save the boys number. “Seriously, text me if you need a ride ever. Or even if you just want to talk.”

“Okay, I have to ask—why are you so _nice?_ You met me like an hour ago.” Tyler's putting his phone back into the pocket of his sweatshirt with a frown as he says that. He looks to Josh's face, trying to find any hint of malice, but, alas, he can't. He can only find genuine concern.

Josh shrugs. “I dunno. I'm—I'm probably overstepping my bounds, but I like to try to be the kind of person that I needed when I was trying to figure myself out.”

“Oh. I just—I think I need a friend, you know? I mean, I have Brendon I guess, but I don't feel like I can trust him half the time. He's a good friend, but I still feel so isolated, you know?” Tyler's voice is hushed, and he's about ninety percent sure that no one else in the room, besides Josh, can hear him.

“Yeah, I understand that. I have faith in you, little dude.”

“You're two inches taller than me. At best.”

Josh nudges Tyler again with a roll of his eyes, he's about to say something else, but his phone vibrates. He unlocks it, reads the text, then shows it to Tyler.

 **Sugar Daddy:** im omw sorry about being late; my mom was up my ass abt smth and then a thing happened but ill explain the thing when im there because holy shit u wont believe it xoxo love u daddy j

“Sugar Daddy? Daddy J?” Tyler raises his eyebrows.

Josh yanks his phone away, and looks at the screen. “That fucker—I knew I shouldn't have let him use my phone. I mean, I'm gonna leave it, but how did I not notice…?” Josh looks at his phone as if it's the toughest riddle in the universe, and, alright, for the millionth time, Tyler is realizing that this dude is absolutely adorable, and that he's probably in hell.

(Josh gets up to go tell Patrick about the text, and then informs Tyler that the guy'd changed his name in Patrick's phone to 'Big Daddy.')

“I can't wait to meet this guy. He sounds, like, really funny.”

“Oh, definitely. He's hilarious, but he's an ass. The good kind of ass, though. Not the flat, pasty, hairy ones you see on the white dads at McDonald's, but the perky and firm asses that you'd see in a porno or something. He's an unproblematic ass.”

Tyler giggles with a hand over his mouth, and subconsciously leans on Josh, only noticing when the man adjusts himself. Josh himself doesn't seem to notice, but Tyler's totally burning up, what from embarrassment and all. Josh definitely picks up on the sudden embarrassed and flustered state that Tyler is in, though.

Another ten minutes of small talk and blushing (from Tyler) go by before the door to the room opens hard enough that, honestly, Tyler is genuinely surprised that the doors didn't just fly right off the hinges right then and there.

There stands Pete, in all of his apparently closeted glory, out of breath, and looking a little pissed off. _“Holy fucking shit, you guys will_ not _believe what just h—_ wait, what the fuck?!” His expression is made up of shock as he looks back and forth between Tyler and Brendon. “What the hell are the two of you doing here?”

Brendon holds up a hand, calling attention to himself, saying, “I'm bisexual.”

Pete looks to Tyler next, and, once again, the boy's face is red, but he manages to say, “I'm gay,” a bit too quick and nervously. It feels weird on his tongue. Like, the word 'gay' just feels _weird._ Tyler feels as if he's trying to teach himself a new language. It just—his tongue isn't sure on how to form the word, but he manages to say it without feeling quite as nauseous as previous times, so he'll take what he can get.

Pete blinks a few times and shakes his head. “Huh. Well, as tradition goes, I'll introduce myself. I'm Pete, I'm bisexual, my pronouns are he and him, and I am trying to worth through the shock of realizing that I no longer have any straight friends, and that I am, in fact, a magnet for gays.” Tyler hides a grin with his hand when he hears Patrick snort in response to Pete.

  


Just as Josh had promised, the meeting ends at eleven, and Brendon brings Tyler home with him after getting everyone's numbers. Tyler had made a friend out of Josh over the course of those four hours, and he'd like to hope that he'd managed to make friends out of everyone else in there, which, in an of itself, makes him feel kind of excited.

Tyler likes the feeling of having friends, and he thinks it's totally worthy to be excited over. Of course, he's more excited to be friends with Josh than anything. Tyler just… Tyler _clicks_ with him. They just _click._

This is rare, but Tyler doesn't feel the need to hide himself around Josh. He doesn't feel as if he has to inhibit himself, and he doesn't feel as if he needs to pretend. He can just be himself, and it's so incredibly relieving. It's not as if he has to hide himself around Brendon, or Pete either now, but it just felt different with Josh.

Back at Brendon's house, Tyler changes back into his own clothes, and tosses Brendon's borrowed clothes into the other boy's laundry hamper. Tyler sits on Brendon's bed, cross legged and against the wall, as he watches Brendon make himself at home on the shitty futon on the other side of the room that is not comfortable in the slightest. For whatever reason, though, Brendon fucking loves it, and Tyler honestly doesn't think he's ever going to figure out why.

Brendon adds a little bit of a lilt to his voice after wrapping himself in a duvet. “So, Tyler, how was it? Did you have fun?”

“It was—it was alright. I had a little fun. It wasn't… bad. Just, uh, not what I expected. Um, also, you don't have to like… worry about giving me rides, I guess. Josh said he'd be willing to uh, y'know. Do the thing. Give me a ride. Like, if I needed one anyways.” Tyler's rambling, and mumbling as well, by the end of that, and he'd went from making awkward eye contact with Brendon to picking at one of his thumbnails.

Brendon scoffs. Tyler's noticed that he tends to scoff at him a lot. “Dude, the day you don't get a ride from me is either the day I get sick or the day I die. I had a _blast._ That Patrick kid is a fuckin' _card,_ and, dude, I did _not_ expect to see Pete there.”

At the 'Pete' part, Tyler's interest piques. _“Right?_ I think I would've been less surprised if _Zack_ showed up rather than Pete. Okay, actually, that's not true, but I'm pretty sure I have whiplash from that plot twist.” The two of them laugh, then talk about a few other funny things that'd happened (namely the water bottle incident, and Pete's sudden entrance) until a realization dawned upon Tyler. “Uh. Fuck. What should I do if my parents start questioning why I'm suddenly coming over every weekend?”

“Just say we have a project or something. That'll buy a few weeks to come up with an excuse. I mean, I'd suggest just sneaking out, but, to be frank, your parents scare me, and I really don't want to end up as collateral damage. I mean, you could stay at other people's houses, or say you are, then just come here or something.”

“Yeah, but _every_ weekend?”

“You're seventeen, Tyler. You're bound to have friends at some point, so why not now? I mean, you're too old for your parents to have such a say in everything you, y'know?”

“Okay, backtracking to earlier—have you _met_ my parents? They're scary, and I'd get killed if I even dared to cross them. Shit, I've gotten grounded just from talking back before.”

“So? _Sneak out._ Be rebellious. Run away.”

“If I ran away, they'd probably send the national guard after my gay ass, then they'd kill me anyways just for trying to run away.”

The two of them go on like that for a while, running in circles, before getting interrupted by Brendon's mother, who is informing them that Pete's there, and that Brendon needs to go get him from the living room. She also says 'hi' to Tyler, and he gives her a small smile. She's a lovely woman, and Tyler kind of wishes she was his mom sometimes. Brendon thinks she's a hard-ass, but Tyler would kill for a parent as lenient as she is.

Once Pete's in the room, Tyler ends up being the third wheel, so his phone gets whipped out. He scrolls through his ridiculously short contact list before landing on Josh's recently made contact. He presses 'message,' and types out a simple, 'hi.' He hovers over the send button for a while, and he's close to just closing the conversation and not saying anything, but Pete shouts something at Brendon, which startles Tyler enough to where he accidentally presses the button on accident.

  


**Josh:** hey! I was actually just about to ask you if you had a good time

 **Tyler:** I did I guess idk it was better than I expected/not what I thought itd be

 **Josh:** its kinda scary but you get used to it lol also patrick's normally not throwing bottles at me by the way

 **Josh:** do you think youre going to come back?

 **Tyler:** next week at least idk im gonna have to pull an excuse out of my ass to go to brendon's again which is gonna be a chore because my parents are stingy aha

 **Josh:** oh ): i'm sorry about that. try telling them youre in a club? I mean technically this kidn of is a club

 **Tyler:** what kind of club would require me being out on friday nights though?

 **Josh:** DUDE tell them you're in a movie club or something

 **Josh:** like, movies are long, and if you're out super late, they'd probably let you stay over at someones house, yknow?

 **Tyler:** wtf thats actually a super good idea

 **Josh:** well call me jesus baby because I am rising

 **Tyler:** whats that even supposed to mean im

 **Josh:** I dont know im very tired and it sounded better in my head ok

 **Josh:** also, if the movie club idea goes belly up you could always pull the teenage rebellion card

 **Tyler:** fuuuck thaaat id get killed if I did that lmao I just got done telling brendon the same thing

 **Josh:** lol true

 **Josh:** alright I really hate to cut this short but i've been awake since five, worked a 10 hour shift, then ive been busy all evening, so I really should get some sleep!!

 **Josh:** it was really fun talking to you <3 hope to see you next week! :D

 **Josh:** (ps you should try to sleep too ur not gonna grow up to be big and strong if ur up until two every night ;P)

  


Tyler's heart skips a beat and his eyes widen at the heart emoticon. As fate would have it, Brendon and Pete notice, and ask Tyler if he'd seen porn or something, which he denies vehemently. _I do not need them thinking I'm weirder than I actually am._

Tyler turns his phone screen off after that, and reaches across Brendon's bed to claim his phone charger as his own for the night. (Tyler has two, and one of which he has to hold in a specific position to work properly, and the other doesn't work at all. He'd ask for a new one, but his parents would feed him some load of b-crap, as Tyler would put it, about how he doesn't work for anything anymore.)

  


Around four, Brendon's asleep, as well as Pete, so Tyler grabs his mostly charged phone, one of Brendon's jackets, and a pair of shoes that he's pretty sure are his before heading out of the front door. He's not going to go far, but he needs a walk to clear his mind, or to at least organize his thoughts.

The walk lasts about an hour, and he listens to a playlist consisting of Queen, Watsky, and Amy Winehouse. It's a weird mix, but it works for him when he needs to think, so he tolerates it.

_So, I'm gay. That's… yeah, that's real now. I mean, it was real before, obviously, but now even more people know, and I just… yeah. It's… it's not going away._

_I think the group tonight helped. The 'g' word isn't as scary anymore. My heart is still beating faster than imaginable, and my hands are shaking right now, but that's okay. I'll get past it. I think I'll be okay._

  


Saturday, Sunday, and most of Monday go by smoothly. Tyler's mood gets considerably better, and he doesn't feel quite as out of place as he had before Friday. Surprisingly, a lot of headway had been made over the weekend, and he'd like to think that it was due to the environment he'd been in.

Brendon knew, Pete knew, and Tyler had a few new friends who he could talk to, and who were totally accepting. He didn't have to pretend, or hide anything, and it was a nice weekend.

Of course, though, he has to go home on Monday. An immediate sinking feeling takes up residence in his gut when Brendon drops him off at home that day. It feels as if it takes decades for him to make his way from the sidewalk to the front door, and it feels as if it takes twice as long before he works up the nerve to actually open the door. Real time, though, only about forty five seconds had passed.

With a deep breath, he opens the door, and steps inside. Madison is already there, taking her shoes off, and asking about his weekend. Tyler says it was good, and that not a whole lot had happened.

For the most part, that was the truth. The last bit was a lie. Okay, okay, alright, objectively not a lot _had_ happened, but everything felt like a lot, meaning that it _felt_ like a lie. Madison just sighs and says, “That's nice,” before going on about her day and doing whatever it is thirteen year old girls do in their spare time.

Tyler gets his shoes off, and about ten feet into his home before his mother catches sight of him. She's immediately up his ass about his homework, the clothes he's wearing, which were borrowed from Brendon, the way his hair looked, and every single thing she could possibly find wrong with his appearance and attitude.

Along with the nit-picking, Tyler gets a bit of a lecture about missing church, and how he'd better not make a habit of it. Tyler feels bitter when he thinks about church, and religion in general.

He's kind of sad, but he's going to, eventually, have to leave his church, and openly renounce his Christianity, possibly even leaving his family in the process. It scares the shit out of him, like most things, but in the long run, safety and mental well being came before religion and family.

Tyler stays in his room for the few hours leading up to dinner, working on homework, and bullshitting with Brendon and Pete through a group chat that'd been made on Kik over the weekend.

 _At_ dinner, and after grace, Zack starts talking about a new student in one of his classes. (Tyler wasn't… 'smart' enough to get into the private school that Zack went to, and that Madison and Jay will probably also go to, but for one thing he'd intentionally bombed the test so he'd be put in public school, and for another thing he counted it as a blessing.)

“I think he's gay. I mean, if it looks gay, and if it acts gay, then it must be gay. Don't even know how he got into the school. Like, it's _religious._ A school for _Christians._ Not fags.”

Tyler's mother shakes her head with a look of disgust before agreeing with his brother. _It's sad. He's only fifteen but he's already had all these views stuffed down his throat._

Tyler, given that he's the eldest sibling, gets asked for his opinion on the issue, and against his better judgment, he says, “Gays are people too, and there's nothing wrong with being gay and religious. I don't really see why they should have to hide themselves in order to cater to the rest of us.” Peas get pushed around on Tyler's plate as he avoids eye contact. It's a common tactic.

The silence in the room was almost palpable, and felt physically heavy on Tyler's shoulders. Hell, he's pretty sure he heard a fly fart—it was _that_ quiet. He continues to avoid eye contact, fighting back the feeling of his throat closing up as he does so. Crying isn't something he needs to start doing right now. They might suspect. Now isn't a good time for them to start suspecting.

His father coughs awkwardly, and his mother puts her silverware down before crossing her fingers. She recites a few bible verses in a very cold and almost venomous tone. The moment lasts for hours probably. “Just, look, Tyler—it's wrong, and if you're really a Christian, you're going to agree with me, right?” She's using her calm, quiet, and intimidating mom voice. It's the one Tyler has to agree with, lest he starts getting yelled at.

“Sorry, Ma'am.” After that, he excuses himself, before the conversation has a chance to get any worse.

  


Half an hour later, Tyler seeks his father out. The man is kind, quiet, and far more lenient than his mother is, so of course he's the one Tyler goes to when he wants something. He informs him of the movie club. “It's every Friday. We watch a movie around seven, then have this, like, huge discussion on it, and break it down and stuff. It's pretty fun, actually. Uh, I kinda went with Brendon last week. Anyways, just, uh—can I go? Like, on Fridays? All Fridays?”

Tyler's not expecting it to work, but it does, and he almost cries in relief. _Thank god for Josh and his idea, and thank god that Dad trusts me._ “As long as you can get a ride, I don't see a problem with it.” His dad sounds pleasant, and Tyler kind of wonders what he'd do if he knew the truth.

“Awesome. Thanks, Pa.”

  


**Tyler:** hey my dad bought the movie club idea!!!

 **Brendon:** sweeeeeeeet!

  


**Tyler:** so I told my dad about the movie club idea

 **Josh:** orly

 **Josh:** how'd it go?

 **Tyler:** it actually went good; he totally bought it

 **Tyler:** I mean I have to get rides and all but i'm in the clear

 **Josh:** dude that's awesome!!!

 **Tyler:** what do I do if they (my parents) start suspecting though

 **Josh:** do what I like to do: fuck it

 **Tyler:** I cant exactly whip my dick out and do that in this situation

 **Josh:** omg im kidding bye

 **Josh:** also that's not what I meant and you know it

 **Josh:** arent you like 17 anyways?

 **Tyler:** yeah ill be 18 in december

 **Josh:** okay ur ltierally almost an adult so dont sweat it lil dude

 **Tyler:** oh man you dont know my parents but ill try not to

 **Josh:** hey I gotta make myself something to eat because im starving, so if you wanna continue this conversation, then you should call me :)

  


Tyler rereads Josh's last message a thousand times over. _Call_ him? The suggestion left Tyler wondering, _'What are we?'_

Tyler isn't really one for talking on the phone. He usually stuck to texting. Brendon wasn't huge on talking on the phone either, and he's the only one Tyler even texted in the first place. (Tyler likes to think that the reason he doesn't speak on the phone very much is because he's awkward and bad at conversation, so people don't usually bother.)

Tyler does end up eventually calling Josh. He feels pathetic for it, but he just about works himself into a panic attack while it rings just from being so nervous. _Oh, god. My voice is too high pitched, I stutter and mumble too much, he probably didn't even expect me to call him, he's probably only being nice out of courtesy, and, fuck, I shouldn't be calling him. Fuck. I'm so stupid. God god god—I should just hang up while I have the ch— “Hello?”_

Tyler is fucked. So, so fucked. Josh sounds good _on the phone. No one_ sounds good on the phone. “Uh. Hey.”

Tyler can practically feel Josh's dumb grin through the phone. _“Hey, dude!”_

The two of them make small talk, mostly about the weather, then jokes about the weather, before getting into a discussion over the current upcoming election. Eventually, that discussion dies down, so Josh asks, _“How was your day?”_

 _My day. Huh. No one asks about that ever. Like, my parents really only do it out of necessity, so this is… weird. Yeah, this is weird._ “Uh, it was… okay. Pete almost broke Brendon's nose, and that was actually kind of funny. Kind of had an incident at dinner, though.”

“ _Wait—how do you almost break someone's_ nose?”

“You've met Pete, dude. Don't question him. Pete Wentz is an enigma wrapped in even more enigmas.”

“ _Alright, that's actually pretty true. What happened at dinner?”_

  


Tyler shifts awkwardly in his spot on his bed, and curses the damn thing for creaking at every single move he makes, before praying Josh can't hear it through the phone. “There's a new kid at my brother's school, and he thinks the kid is gay for whatever reason. Everyone pitched in with their crappy opinions, then Ma asked about my opinion.”

“ _What'd you s—fuck—shit—go on, dude. I just, uh, spilled a bit of tomato sauce on my shirt. I'll live.”_

Tyler snorts and giggles a bit at the mental image of Josh wedging his phone between his ears, slight frown on his face as he scrubs tomato sauce off of his shirt. It's kind of a ridiculous image. “I just… Basically, I said that gays shouldn't have to hide themselves from everyone else. My mom had a fit, recited five hundred quotes from the bible, then kinda forced me to agree with her.” Tyler takes a minute or two to actually say this, and he gets a sympathetic sigh from Josh. Or, well, he's going to assume it's sympathetic. “Also, when I got home, Mom cornered me and started chewing me out for everything.”

“ _That's kinda shitty. Like, really shitty. I'm making a disgusted face.”_

“Right?”

“ _Yeah, dude. Listen, people are dumb, and ignorant, and I'm sorry your mom is like that too. Just—people don't understand the whole gay thing, and I think it scares them, y'know?”_ Tyler can hear a plate clinking in the background, and then he assumes the phone shifts, due to the slight shuffling noises he's met with. _“There's a bunch of misconceptions, and people just… they prefer to stick to flimsy metaphors rather than educating themselves. It's despicable, if anything.”_

 _He's preachy. I like it._ “Yeah. I kinda wonder what my parents would do if they _knew._ I'd like to think they'd just magically change all of their world views, just because I'm their son, and they're supposed to love me or whatever, but I just can't see that happening. I hate being pessimistic, but getting kicked out is the only outcome I can imagine.”

“ _I'm sorry about that, man. I'd wait until you're eighteen, or moved out before coming out to them. I thought my parents would be cool about it, but, lord no. They blew up and pretty much kept me prisoner, so I up and left a month before I graduated.”_

“Thanks for the assurance.”

“ _Listen, man, I'm trying to be relatable. I don't want you to feel alone in all this.”_

“Thank you, Josh. I appreciate that more than you'd think.”

“ _No worries. Hey, this is a bad place to cut the call, but I have to eat, okay?”_

“Alright.”

“ _Hit me up later, little dude. Or text me. Either one works.”_ And then the call ends.

  


**Josh:** I'll fight your parents for you

 **Josh:** call me josh, defender of the gays

 **Tyler:** you're like 2 inches taller than me and u look almost as scrawny

 **Josh:** don't doubt me

 **Josh:** I'll give them the ol' razzle dazzle

 **Tyler:** what does that even mean omg

 **Josh:** you'll see when I fight them >:((

 **Tyler:** is it bad to say im actually kinda scared of the ol' razzle dazzle?

 **Josh:** nah man, that shit is INTENSE, so u should be scared

 **Tyler:** have I said that you're a nerd yet?

 **Josh:** yes, and I resent it

 **Tyler:** well, to reiterate: ur a nerd

 **Josh:** hey, man, on a serious note, if you ever do get kicked out, hit me up and i'll help you find a place to stay

 **Tyler:** thanks management

 **Tyler:**...i have autocorrect turned on

 **Josh:** call me josh, the management

 **Tyler:** first, ur jesus, then defender of the gays, now ur the management

 **Tyler:** what else are yourself

 **Josh:** probably god idk man

  


Tyler and Josh go back at forth like that up until Tyler falls asleep at eleven. While he's falling asleep, he thinks about how odd it feels to be able to have someone calm him down like that. He hadn't really been too worked up in the first place, but Josh at least managed to distract him from the shit going on in Tyler's life. It's nice, if anything.

  


Tyler's still pretty anxious at the second meeting, but he's able to walk in without Brendon having to literally drag him. Pete had tagged along as well, under the guise of him being too lazy to drive himself. Ryan, nor Patrick are there, and neither is Ashley.

Josh was the only one in the room when the three and shown up, and Tyler blushes when he sees him. Why? Well, Tyler isn't really sure, but it probably has to do with the fact that Josh is ridiculously cute and nice to him. _But Brendon's cute, objectively, and he's nice to me, so why don't I get all flustered when I see him?_

By eight, Brendon's getting restless and fidgety, so he suggests that everyone go for a walk, or something, since sitting in the room was boring. No one could bring themselves to disagree, because he was right. It was boring. Sure, Tyler was having a fucking amazing discussion with Josh, but it was _still_ boring.

  


By nine, the four of them are at an Olive Garden, eating and joking around. Brendon flicks a bit of pasta at Pete, which gets his shirt messy, so he flicks a piece of spaghetti back at Brendon in retaliation. Brendon mourns the loss of his white shirt, and while Tyler laughs at him, Josh sticks an ice cube down the back of his shirt.

The four of them continue laughing and having a good time up until the shrill voice of Tyler's mother can be heard cutting through the ambient chatter of the restaurant. She hasn't seen the group of teenagers yet, but both Tyler and Brendon are whipping around, eyes widening once they land on her.

Both Pete and Josh are confused, and Pete's asking what'd happened to Tyler and Brendon. Brendon points at Tyler, and mouths, “His mom is here.”

Pete winces, and Josh pulls out another sympathetic expression. Tyler cringes.

Two minutes and a fifty dollar bill from Josh to a waitress later, the four of them manage to get out alive and unseen.

Once outside of the restaurant, Tyler puts his hand on the wall, and his other over his hard, as he says, “If shit like this keeps happening, I'm going to die at the age of forty.”

After everyone has a moment to gather themselves, Brendon calls his mother and gets the okay to bring the three boys home with him.

  


Back at Brendon's house, Tyler crawls onto his usual spot on Brendon's bed, accompanied by Josh, of course. Brendon and Pete fall into another discussion, and basically ignore the two others in the room. (Not purposefully, of course.)

Tyler falls asleep at some point, and it wouldn't have been such a big deal if it weren't for the fact that he'd fallen asleep on Josh's shoulder. He sleeps peacefully, up until he hears the shutter of a camera going off, and then he's wide awake and putting three feet between himself and Josh.

Brendon laughs, and hands Tyler a Polaroid picture with a dumb grin on his face. Once it's developed, Tyler's face is about as red as a ripe tomato. He hands the picture to Josh, and the older boy gives him a raised eyebrows kind of look, causing Tyler to turn his head in a different direction.

(In the picture, Tyler had looked oh-so peaceful and comfortable, with his mouth slightly open. Josh had been asleep too, with his head resting on Tyler's. All in all, the picture is adorable.)

  


**Josh:** hey, I don't care that you fell asleep on me.

 **Tyler:** I know now but im kinda embarrassed

 **Josh:** im gonna put the picture in my wallet

 **Tyler:** have fun I guess

 **Josh:** you dont have to sit miles away from me

 **Tyler:** why arent you like… annoyed or something

 **Josh:** [image attached]

  


He sends a screenshot of the first message.

  


**Tyler:** smart ass

 **Josh:** tell me if im making you uncomfortable

  


After sending the last message, Josh gently wraps a hand around Tyler's bicep to gently tug him back over. Tyler sighs, spiritually. He's heard a bunch of metaphors about butterflies in the stomach, but right now, he's pretty sure that there's, like, an infinite amount of hummingbirds in there instead.

Aside from being nervous, Tyler isn't uncomfortable, which he finds rather surprising. In fact, he's the exact _opposite_ of that. He feels relaxed and relatively calm just from sitting next to Josh. Josh is… warm. He's warm and gentle, and his presence is kind of comforting as if he were a mother or something.

_Ugh, it's been a week, but he's already a source of comfort for me. This is weird. I've only known him for a week. He shouldn't be having this effect on me._

  


**Tyler:** I think you're fine

  


_I shouldn't be getting attached, at least not yet. He's probably going to end up breaking my heart or something._

Tyler sits with Josh for a few more hours, talking quietly with him, up until they fall asleep for good.

  


Waking up the next morning, Tyler rolls over to be greeted with Josh's sleeping face, which causes a pang of pure shock to shoot through his heart. _God, he's so fucking adorable when he's asleep._ He allows himself to admire Josh's beauty up until another feeling, this time fear, runs through his body. _I shouldn't be thinking like this. It's—it's wr—you know what? Fuck this. Denial is what got me into this mess in the first place._

  


Tyler just kind of stares for a while, up until Josh's eyes are suddenly opening, and looking him dead in the eye once they've focused. “Why are you staring at me?” His breath smells like something dead, and, okay, it's actually kind of disgusting. Cute boy or not, no one can make morning breath attractive.

“I uh, didn't want to wake you up by getting up or something…?”

He grunts, and hauls himself into a sitting position. He lightly hits Tyler in the shoulder with the back of his hand as he says, “I sleep like a rock. Like, so deep that I'm not even alive. You would've been fine.”

“Oh.” Tyler sits up after him, trying to wake up as well. Of course, when Josh gets out of the bed, he's wide awake. Josh trips over Pete, who'd been sleeping on the floor next to the bed, with a yelp, which causes Pete to wake up, whining about Josh's foot nailing him in the balls, and Josh goes down, landing on Brendon, who, god bless his reflexes, jerks awake and socks Josh square in the jaw, and Tyler can only laugh because, holy shit, what the hell just happened?

Brendon lifts his head once he notices Tyler laughing, and says, “You're next, asshole.”

  


Going home that Monday isn't as bad as the previous one. There aren't any fights, but things are kind of tense. Dinner is mostly silent, aside from routine questions about everyone's days, and how school had went, not to mention whatever else it is parents like to ask about. Tyler manages to duck out of the dining room pretty quickly after being excuse, and once he finished what little homework he has, he does it.

He texts him.

He texts _Josh._

  


**Tyler:** supportive

 **Josh:** pardon me

 **Tyler:** my phone autocorrected 'sup' to supportive yikes

 **Josh:** lol

 **Josh:** not much

 **Josh:** i'm at the DMV right now getting my driver's license replaced

 **Tyler:** what happened to your old one?

 **Josh:** pete broke it in half somehow

 **Tyler:** h o w

 **Josh:** no clue

 **Josh:** wanna sneak out tonight ;)

 **Tyler:** maybe

 **Tyler:** give me incentive

 **Josh:** I'll take you to your choice of any 24 hour fast food restaurant

 **Josh:** AND i'll pay (I got my paycheck today so why not)

 **Tyler:** how about taco bell

 **Josh:** hell yes buddy

 **Tyler:** you're serious about this right

 **Josh:** as a heart attack

  


Tyler looks at his phone, trying to decide what to say. It's going against every single bit of common sense he has to go along with it, but he still finds himself typing out, _'how does 11pm sound??'_ in response to Josh. He just—there's a cute guy offering to take him to his favorite fast food place, so obviously the risk is worth it.

Josh agrees with a simple, _'sure, see you at eleven.'_

Tyler takes a shower, and even goes so far as to put on a little bit of concealer and foundation in preparation for seeing Josh. It's a little hard to do all of this without his parents noticing, but, somehow, he manages, and ends up seeking his little sister out around ten to put in a request.

“Hey, Maddy, I'm gonna, uh, go on a date, but I have to sneak out for it, so I'd appreciate it if, one, you didn't tell on me, and two, if you could cover for me.” 'Going on a date' sounds less suspicious than 'I'm going to a Taco Bell at midnight with a guy I met a week and a half ago.'

She looks a little curious, but she doesn't question him. “I'll try, I guess. If they figure out you're not here, though, there won't be a lot I can do. Though, I did catch Zack sneaking out last week, so if you go down, he's going down with you.”

“Thank you so much. I just—I'm gonna leave around eleven, so everyone should be in bed I guess. I'm serious, though. If I get caught, you best throw Zack under the bus as well.”

She waves Tyler off with a snort and a roll of her eyes before going back to what Tyler's going to assume is homework.

  


Tyler gets a text from Josh at 10:54 PM, informing the younger of the two that Josh is parked a few houses down the street. Tyler pretty much flies out of his window and down the tree next to it.

He's about five feet towards the front of the yard when his younger brother comes flying down in front of him, landing flat on his ass. They make awkward eye contact, and Zack says, “Don't mention this, and I won't tell them that you're sneaking out too,” before Tyler can even bat an eyelash.

Obviously, Tyler just nods before heading in his own direction. _He's probably going to a party. I don't get how a fifteen year old kid does the walk of shame almost every other day. Christ, it's a miracle Mom and Dad haven't picked up on it._ _He almost always reeks of weed and vodka._

As promised, what Tyler's going to assume is Josh's car is parked a house or two down the street. It's a classy, sleek black Mustang that leaves Tyler looking at it in awe. Josh pokes his head out of the driver's side window, and waves.

He's a little relieved. For some reason, Tyler was just a little scared of accidentally getting into the wrong car. He picks up the pace of his walking, and taps on the window after realizing that the door was locked. It unlocks almost immediately.

Tyler climbs in, and once his seat belt is buckled, he's asking, “No offense, but a Mustang seems a little out of your price range, Mister Target.”

“I had a few _rich_ family members that didn't have anything else to spend their money on when I turned sixteen. Bite me.” His tone is dry, and he's giving Tyler just a bit of a look before putting the car into 'drive' and heading towards the nearest Taco Bell.

“How was your day?”

“Boring, mostly. Pete dared Brendon to go streaking through the senior hall during break this morning.”

Josh cackles. “Please tell me he didn't actually do it.”

“Dude, you've met him. He totally did it. One of the teachers chased him for, like, three blocks. He literally ran home three miles, naked, because Pete still had his clothes.” Josh has to stop the car after this so he can have a minute to laugh at the mental image. He ends up choking on his spit, and Tyler laughs at how ridiculous he looks when basically asphyxiating. “Calm down, man, it wasn't _that_ funny.”

Once recovered, he replies. “Listen, man, my spit isn't my friend.” He wipes his eyes, which were tearing up, and Tyler has to take a mental minute to gather himself. _God, he's so beautiful. His smile is so, so beautiful._

“Hey, you wanna hear something dumb I did when I was a freshman?” _This is almost as wild as Brendon streaking. He totally isn't prepared._

“Of course I do. Tell me.” _Smirk._

“Okay, so, Brendon and I used to have this thing where we would dare each other to do ballsy shit, right? One day, he went too far. 'Tyler, I dare you to climb to the top of the art building.' Mind you, I'm ridiculously good at climbing things.”

Josh slams on his breaks, and either of them thank god they're in an empty street. “Wait—hold up—were you the dumb ass who got stuck on top of the art building at Capitol a few years ago?”

Tyler sighs, and looks away from Josh, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Yeah.”

“How the hell…?” Josh looks at him with wide, brownish-hazelish eyes, which look almost black in the dim light of the street lamp near the car.

“I, uh, scaled the side of the building. There's a lot of ledges and stuff. I just—I wasn't able to get down. I got grounded for two months and suspended for a week, but it was so worth it.”

Josh lets out another series of giggles made out of sunshine and gold, causing Tyler to just absolutely _melt._ “That's fucking awesome, dude.” He reaches across the console and squeezes Tyler's shoulder, most likely in favor of a hug, before returning the hand back to the steering wheel. “Y'know, it's kind of weird that we went to the same high school for a few years. We could've been friends”

“Dude, no. You were a junior when I was a freshman. We would _not_ have been friends. Christ, do you know how annoying I was?”

“Like I was any better. I was totally a MySpace kid.”

  


Twenty minutes later finds the two of them lounging in the small back seat of Josh's car, sharing a pretty large order of food and chatting each other up. It takes a while, but Tyler eventually runs out of dumb shit to talk about, so he asks Josh about his day.

“Kind of like yours—boring. Got up at four, showered, dressed up in khakis and a polo, went to work until three, came home, went to the DMV, and now I'm here with you.”

“Sounds exhausting.” Tyler stuffs his face with a bite of a burrito, and, with his mouth dangerously full, he asks, “What do you do for a job?”

“I'm a receptionist at a hospital. It's… exciting. By that, I mean it's the most mind-numbing job I've ever had, but it's relatively easy work for a decent wage, plus it pays the bills, so I don't complain. Also, the insurance is good. Like, real good.”

“D'ya got your own place or somethin'?”

“God, yeah. I have an apartment that's about a fifteen minute drive from the rec center during rush hour. It's in an okay-ish part of the city, which is a definite plus, but it's kinda run down and the insulation sucks, but it's my home. Better than living with my parents, obviously, so, y'know, I don't care.”

“Cool. So, uh, what do you like to do? Also, sorry if I'm being invasive.”

Josh shrugs. “It's chill. I don't mind it. I… like to do cute boys.”

Tyler snorts soda through his nose and whacks Josh in the chest. “That ain't what I meant, asshole.”

Josh giggles for the thousandth time that night. “Okay, okay. Although that's true, I play drums and watch The Walking Dead about as much as I breathe.”

“Drums? That's actually pretty cool. I can sing, kind of, and I'm pretty good at playing piano.”

Josh nods, and the two of them fall into a comfortable silence that's only broken by the sounds of them chewing and taking sips from their drinks, up until Josh is slamming a hand down onto the back of the driver's seat. “Tyler. Dude. We're both gay. Talk to me about boys.”

“I… don't really talk about boys that much.”

“C'mon, man, you gotta have something. I have no other gay guy friends that I talk to regularly, or any straight lady friends.”

“What do I even talk about?'

“What kind of guys do you like? Things you find hot? Crushes? I don't care, man. I just—I haven't talked about guys in so long.”

You roll your eyes. “Loser.”

“Hey, I resent that.”

“Of course you do. Uh. I don't really think I have a preference when it comes to guys. I mean, I find a lot of men attractive, but they all look pretty different.” _How do I describe Josh without being obvious?_ “I think I have a thing for brunettes, and like, dyed hair. Piercings are also pretty fuckin' hot. Other than that, I don't really know.”

“So, basically me.”

Tyler whacks him in the chest again. “It's purely a coincidence that you happen to have brown hair and, like, five hundred piercings, alright?”

Josh snorts. “I'm teasing, Tyler. Also, I have, like, six, so shut up.”

“Six? You only got the eyebrow and the lip thing, then your ears.”

He leans over, and whispers, “Nipples,” into Tyler's ear.

“ _Oh._ Oh my. Alright, then.” Tyler goes silent, and red in the face.

“You're totally imagining me without a shirt, aren't you?”

Tyler gives him a dirty look. “No, I'm not.”

“Liar. You're totally blushing right now.”

“Quit smiling at me. It's rude.”

Josh scoffs really loudly. _“How?_ I just think it's funny that you're all red right now 'cuz you found out I have my nipples pierced.”

Tyler hides his face in his hands, but not for long, since Josh pries his hands away from his face, saying, “I'm just teasing, dude.”

“I know, man. Anyways, back to the topic at hand. Boys. What kind of guys do you like?'

“I'm kinda like you in which I don't really have a type. Though, I think we share a thing for brunettes. Brown and hazel eyes though—holy shit. I don't get why people get so hyped over blue eyes. They all look the same. Brown eyes, though—there's so many like, different colors.”

“Yeah, brown and hazel eyes are pretty great. I like green eyes too.”

“ _Same._ If someone has hazel or green eyes, there's, like, a ninety percent chance I'll fall in love with them. Dude, alright, most of us young gay men are size queens, but like… I'm an ass man. I love butts. If someone has a nice _butt,_ there's like a one hundred percent chance I'll fall in love with them.”

“You… are so gay, Josh.”

“I know, man, I know.”

  


Tyler doesn't get home until around three. He would've been home sooner, but he'd gotten lost in his conversation with Josh. It's… weird.

Tyler finds it ridiculously weird that he was able to get lost in that conversation so easily. They'd gone from talking about what kind of men they liked to the whole iPhone vs. Android debate, then to who they thought should win the 2012 presidential election (both of them agreed on Obama), before striking up a deep conversation about The Walking Dead, and, eventually, they realized it was two, and that Josh had to get Tyler home, mostly since he himself had to be up again at four.

Tyler likes talking to him. There hasn't been any judgment within any of their conversations so far, and he's so _nice._ Before Tyler had gotten out of Josh's car that night, the older boy had given him a huge that lasted just a little bit too long, but that was alright. Neither of them minded it.

While Tyler walks back to his home from the corner of the block, he thinks about how Josh smells. It sounds creepy, it really does, but Josh has a distinct smell. His car smells like cheap air fresheners with undertones of cigarette smoke. (Josh says he doesn't smoke very often.) Josh himself smells like lavender laundry detergent and citrus body wash. It's kind of a weird combination, but Tyler likes it.

  


Before Tyler falls asleep, he gets a string of texts from Josh.

  


**Josh:** hey, im sorry about keeping you out so late :(

 **Josh:** I had a really good time and youre fun to talk to aha

 **Josh:** also sorry if this is getting too personal (given we havent known each other that long at all) but I kinda have a hard time talk to people but youre easy to talk to so that was really nice

 **Josh:** thanks I guess?

 **Josh:** jeez sorry I feel like an awkward 14 year old again

 **Josh:** anyways I hope you sleep well and that u have a good day tomorrow! <3 see you on friday hopefully!!

  


The Friday before Halloween is the Friday Tyler finally doesn't have a ride. Brendon was out sick with a cold, Pete had gone missing, along with Patrick, Ashley was busy, and Tyler didn't quite trust Ryan, so he was left with Josh.

  


**Tyler:** heyy brendon's sick & everyone else is either not answering or is busy so I kindasorta need a ride

 **Josh:** done

 **Josh:** when do u need to be picked up

 **Tyler:** around 3

 **Josh:** do you want me to pick you up early

 **Tyler:** I would love that but you aren't my dad or any other of age relative

 **Josh:** well shit ill see you around three-ish then

  


(Tyler won't openly admit to it, but he's totally disappointed that Josh missed the opportunity to make a 'daddy' joke.)

Tyler shoots Brendon a quick text to tell him that, if anyone asks, namely Tyler's parents, that he's at Brendon's house. Brendon just says, _'will do,'_ before he quits replying again.

  


Josh is waiting in the parking lot of the school, sitting on the hood of his car, playing a game on his phone when Tyler's last class of the day gets out. As soon as Josh catches sight of Tyler, he's sliding off of his car, and pulling the younger boy into a hug as soon as he's within grabbing distance.

Tyler hugs back, and similar to the hug they'd executed in Josh's car a month and a week prior, they hold it just a little bit too long before detaching from each other. (At first, Tyler had kind of been thrown off by Josh's sudden bursts of affection, but he'd gotten used to it, especially after Josh had explained that he's a pretty affectionate dude.)

Josh takes Tyler back to his apartment, mostly since Josh needs to take a shower.

“Hey, man, I have to take a shower, but, uh, you can use my phone charger, or watch TV. Just, like, don't burn my apartment complex down.”

Tyler had been there a few times before, but, it was usually for a few minutes at a time, and there were always at least two other teenagers with him anyways. This time, though, he actually gets a chance to take it in.

His living room is a little messy, but it's not grossly messy. It's lived in messy. It's like… It's Josh, basically. There's a newspaper open on the coffee table, and an empty coffee mug next to it, then there's a few books, and a few other sheets of paper scattered throughout the living room.

There's a couch on the wall opposite of the TV, then a loveseat which kind of acts as some sort of barrier between the living room and the dining room/kitchen combo. The couch is ridiculously comfortable, and Tyler just about falls asleep by the time Josh has returned from his shower.

Tyler had almost forgotten about the man's nipple piercings up until that point. Josh? Yeah, Josh wasn't wearing a shirt, and Tyler's eyes pretty much popped out of his head when he saw Josh. _God. He's fucking hot. I just—I'm dead. I'm straight up dead. This guy is going to be the death of me._ “Dude, word of advice—don't try getting yourself into leather pants if you're not completely dried off. It's hard as hell, and I wouldn't recommend it.”

Tyler casually replies with, “Why would you even wear leather pants in the first place? Your legs should be like hamburger meat, what with the chaffing and all.”

“They make my ass look _amazing.”_ He says that as if it makes perfect sense, and at Tyler's scoff, he smacks his own ass as if to prove his point. “Don't knock it 'til you try it.”

“Oh my _god,”_ is all Tyler manages to say before either of them break into a fit of giggles.

Josh steps into his kitchen, and raises his voice as he asks, “You want something to eat? I got leftover pizza and leftover macaroni and cheese.”

Tyler replies with, “Pizza!”

“Alright, man! I got you covered!”

Josh returns a few minutes later with reheated slices of pizza for both himself and Tyler.

Tyler takes the piece meant for him, gratefully, saying, “Thank you so much, man. I'm starving.” He folds the slice of pizza in half, and eats just about half of it in one bite without so much as batting an eyelash. Tyler's always been a little self conscious about eating in front of other people; it just wasn't his favorite thing to do, but, sitting in Josh's living room, practically inhaling pizza while watching a Days of Our Lives rerun, just felt so… _normal._

While Josh is trying to figure out what's happening in the mentioned soap, Tyler takes the opportunity to allow himself to openly stare at him. Josh still isn't wearing a shirt, which Tyler definitely doesn't mind. He examines the way Josh's muscles move under his skin, and he admires the freckles that litter his shoulders and upper torso. His stomach is flat, mostly, with the tiniest little bit of pudge that Tyler finds totally adorable. Josh's collarbones aren't super defined, but sometimes if he moves right, they're overly visible, and, okay, Tyler really can't deny that he finds Josh attractive.

Eventually, Josh lets out a ferocious groan, and reaches towards his coffee table to grab the remote before tossing it at Tyler. “Change it. If I have to watch one more freaking second of this, I will die.”

Tyler rolls his eyes and ends up changing the channel to Disney, where a rerun of Hannah Montana is playing. Neither of them say anything, aside from Josh dropping a snide comment in relation to the show, or Tyler mimicking one of the characters, and it's really just… not awkward. It's nice, being able to enjoy someone's company, Tyler decides.

A few minutes into a rerun of The Suite Life of Zack and Cody, Josh's land line rings, and when he reaches over Tyler to pick it up, he doesn't move, meaning he ends up pretty much just laying in the younger's lap. _Don't pop a boner, don't pop a boner, don't pop a boner…_

Two minutes pass, before Josh is hanging it up, and explaining. “Telemarketer.”

  


They hang out at Josh's apartment until six, which is when they head towards the recreational center. Tyler ends up having to borrow a jacket from Josh, considering it was actually kind of cold, and since he'd forgotten to grab one from his locker before he'd had Josh pick him up. The jacket he borrows isn't anything special. It's plain, it's black, and it fits, so Josh lets Tyler keep it, simply saying, “Too small for me, so you might as well have it.” (Tyler thanks him. Profusely.)

By eight, no one is at the rec. center yet, and Josh gets the first text from Ashley. “She has a project that she can't _not_ do tonight.”

The two of them talk about food until eight thirty-ish, which is when Josh gets the second text. This time, it's from Patrick. “Pete got in a car accident, and Patrick's at the hospital with him. Pete's fine. Just has whiplash. Better than being dead, I guess...”

“Figures that's the reason he wasn't at school,” Tyler mutters as he picks at one of his fingernails.

The third text comes at nine, and it's from Ryan, informing Josh that there'd been a death in the Ross family. “Huh. Odd. This is the first time no one's showed up in a few years. I mean, there's a few other people who come sometimes, but, uh, normally I get a text if they do. Oh well.”

“Do we just… hang out until eleven, or…?”

“Fuck no. I ain't staying here until eleven if you're the only one here besides me. Do you want me to take you home, or to Brendon's or something…?”

“Uh. My parents think I'm at Brendon's house, and I told you that Brendon's sick, I think. I kinda don't wanna risk getting sick. Fuck.” Tyler runs a hand through his hair, and spends a few minutes trying to think of another solution, up until Josh pipes up, and—

“You can just spend the night at my apartment. It's no big deal. I can just take you home tomorrow morning or something.”

“Oh, jeez, Josh, are you sure? I don't wanna intrude.”

“Of course I am, dude. You wanna go get the stuff to make brownies?”

“Hell yeah. I'm always up for brownies.”

“Awesome.”

  


After a trip to Walmart to get a few boxes of brownie mix, mini M&M's and regular M&M's, eggs, block butter, and a half gallon of milk, plus a few other things that Josh needed in general, the two of them are carrying the bags up to Josh's apartment. It's around ten at this point, and Josh hands Tyler his bags once either of them are at the door. Tyler just about gives out under the weight of all of the bags, so he makes a mental note to start lifting weights, or to at least do _something_ about his pitifully weak arms.

Josh leads Tyler to the kitchen, and instructs him to unpack everything while he gets out a mixing bowl and a whisk. “I prefer mixing stuff with whisks. It's way more fun, y'know?”

As Tyler is crumpling up the grocery bags to add to Josh's collection which is held in a cabinet to the right of his sink, he responds. “I can definitely relate. I'm pretty terrible at controlling electric mixers, so I don't really bother.”

“Yeah, same. I've had a few incidents with flour, eggs, and milk. Also, electric mixers are, like, kind of expensive if you want a good one. I mean, I could afford one if I wanted, but I'm not blowing two hundred bucks on a mixer I'm not gonna use more than once or twice a year.”

“Who would even…? _Why_ would someone spend two hundred dollars on a mixer?” Tyler's eyes are comically wide while he's opening the boxes of brownie mix.

Josh hands Tyler a pair of scissors to open the bags with when he answers Tyler's question. “People with too much money and a lack of priorities, I believe. I mean, I'm not really one to talk.”

Tyler frowns a bit. “What do you mean?”

“Hey—be careful about putting that into the bowl. Uh, anyways—look around, man. I have a fifty inch flat screen in my living room, memory foam in my bedroom, and I drive a freakin' Mustang, yet I'm still living in this apartment.”

“You do realize you work fifty hours a week, right? Also, you said the Mustang was a gift, so that doesn't count.”

“Still, man. I don't need any of that.” Josh reaches around Tyler to grab the jug of milk, then proceed to measure out the proper amount called for by the recipe on the boxes. “My job isn't even that hard. Like, all I do is take calls, forward them, and, like, check patients in when they show up. Hell, I don't even have a degree. I don't really deserve all this stuff.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, please tell me you don't feel bad about that. You're lucky, dude. Take the job and run; don't question it.”

“I _did_ take the job and run. I spent about a month after moving out looking for a job, then my roommate at the time was able to hook me up with one. I've been at it for two years, and I'm not leaving that job until I either get fired or until I find a better one.”

“See, you're doing alright. Now, me, on the other hand—I have no idea what I'm going to do after high school, or what I'll even be able to do. I have a few scholarships being thrown at me already, but none of them really catch my interest. I'm trying to gauge my parents' opinions on queers, and like, so far I'm just going to assume I'm gonna get kicked out, not to mention cut off, so if I don't get a full ride to somewhere, I'm not going to be able to go to college in general. I refuse to drown in student loans.”

“Mostly why I didn't go. After I moved out, _I_ got cut off, and the scholarships and grants I qualified for didn't pay for very much, plus I didn't really want to balance school on top of working ten hours a day. If, at some point, I have enough money and time to do so, I probably would consider going back to school, but, man, I spent the past month of my senior year working, and I'm not putting myself through that for another four to ten years.”

“You're only twenty, dude. You still got tons of time to figure things out.”

“Well, yeah, but still.”

“Man, where am I even gonna go when my parents find out about the whole gay thing? Like I keep saying, I'll probably get kicked out, and I don't got anywhere else to stay.”

“You could stay here if you needed to, or until you could get your own apartment.”

“Oh, Josh, that's—that's overstepping my bounds. That's way too much to ask for. I mean, I'm having enough trouble just making brownies with you, but, like, sleeping on your couch? That's a lot.”

“It's not necessarily asking if I'm offering,” Josh trails off at the end of that statement, voice all quiet and gentle, as he cracks four eggs into the mixing bowl while Tyler is melting butter on the stove. They avoid eye contact with each other, and although everything should feel awkward given where the conversation had gone, it doesn't and Tyler is just _confused._ The two of them, awkward conversation aside, just moved and worked together fluidly and naturally. _God, this is weird._

“I still don't know if that's the case, though. I mean, there's still definitely the off chance that they're going to be totally awesome and accepting, but whenever I think about it, I just—I get a bad feeling in my gut, y'know? Ugh, I wish I wasn't afraid of my parents, but I also have every reason to be, even though they're supposed to love me and shit.”

“It's not a sin to say you're gay, dude.”

“I've only said it out loud, like, seven times.”

“Do you seriously count?” Josh raises an eyebrow as he turns his head to look at Tyler over his shoulder.

“I count just about everything. I've sneaked out in the middle of the night with you three times, I've lied about where I'm at to my parents eleven times in the past five weeks, I've been to church about nine hundred times in the seventeen years I've been alive, and—” Tyler rattles off a few more things, expecting Josh to laugh at him or to make fun of him, but he doesn't. He just nods, seeming to understand.

“I get that.”

The two of them continue to talk and work in tandem to finish getting the brownie batter made, before grabbing spoons, and heading to the living room with the bowl to eat the batter that hadn't made it into the baking dish.

  


About twenty minutes into a rerun of Full House, Josh points at a place near the left corner of his mouth. “You, uh, got a lil' somethin'...”

Tyler tries licking the place Josh is pointing to, asking, “Did I get it?”

“Uh. No.” A conflicted expression crosses Josh's face for maybe a few seconds, and the next thing Tyler knows, the older boy is leaning forward to take care of the little speck of brownie batter himself by lightly kissing the corner of Tyler's lips.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is when Tyler Dies. Friday, October 26th, 2012, is the day Tyler Robert Joseph died from heart failure after the cutest boy he'd ever seen had kissed him. Okay, not _kissed_ him, but still. It was _basically_ a kiss.

Josh lingers for a second, but then the oven timer is going off, so he shoots up to go get the brownies from the oven.

_Did that really just happen? Did Josh freakin' Dun actually kiss me? Holy shit._

  


By two in the morning, the two of them have gone through half of the pan of brownies, and Josh is trying to explain why he thinks a specific character in a different TV show is gay. “Look at that, dude. Straight people don't do that. I just—straight TV characters don't act like that. He barely even bats an eyelash at any of the girls in the show, and none of his relationships with any of them have lasted longer than a few episodes. But—but _look!_ Look at that!” Josh has an arm flung out towards the TV. “You see that shit? That's gay. Like—the way he's talking, the way he's _looking_ at that other guy—that's so gay.”

“That could be mean anything, Josh. I stare at guys too.”

“Consider this: You're gay, Tyler. You're literally proving my point. And—fucking— _look—”_ His arm flies out towards his TV again to point at something else. “That's just—that's gay. That's really gay, Tyler.”

Tyler chuckles a bit, and they discuss Josh's theory for a good ten minutes or so before Tyler comes to a tragic realization: “I don't have anything to sleep in.”

“Do you want me to take you home or something so you can get a change of clothes…?”

“It's almost three and my parents are usually in bed by ten or eleven, so no. Also, they think I'm at Brendon's.”

“Oh. You can wear some of my clothes then. We're about the same size anyways.” Josh shrugs, and reaches forward for another brownie.

Tyler frowns. “Why are you so… _nice?”_

“It's… not a big deal? You have a situation going on, and I can help, so I don't see why I shouldn't. Also, I have tons of clothes. Like, as long as you don't wear any of my khakis or button-ups, you're fine.”

Tyler's a touch reluctant, but he does crack, and say, “Alright.”

  


Come eight in the morning, Tyler and Josh are both rudely awaken due to the former's phone ringing. Josh had fallen asleep sitting up, and Tyler had fallen asleep with his head on the arm of the couch and his feel in Josh's lap. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it wasn't _uncomfortable_ either.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey, Tyler? The next time you're supposed to spend the night, give me a heads up. Your mom is gonna be here in, like, an hour, with your clothes that you forgot. You need to find a way to get over here by then. I've got a fever of 102, and I'm not driving to wherever you're at, so you're on your own.”_ Brendon's voice is muffled, and he coughs a few times throughout his little spiel, before bursting into a coughing fit at the end of it. Tyler cringes out of sympathy.

“Uh. I'm at Josh's apartment. I'll—I'll ask him if he can bring me over or something.” Tyler looks over at Josh as he says that, and thanks the lord when Josh groggily reaches to his left and dangles his car keys in the air. _Cool._

“ _Alright. I'm going back to sleep.”_ Brendon hangs up after.

Tyler sits up, yawning obnoxious, and Josh asks, “Brendon?” as he sits up and yawns himself.

“Yeah. Mom apparently noticed my missing clothes, so she's bringing them to his house in, like, an hour.”

“Gross.” Josh stretches, and Tyler cringes, yet again, at the sound of all of the bones in Josh's spine cracking and popping. “Does she snoop or something? Assuming you left the clothes in your room.”

“Yeah, both of my parents do. That's why I hide everything I own.”

“Do they check your phone?” _He's probably worried about our text conversations._

“Don't give them the chance, usually. I delete my text conversations once a month, and I clear my browsing history regularly just to be safe.”

“Oh.” Josh yawns again, before getting up to head towards his bedroom. He reappears a few minutes later with a pair of black jeans and a plain gray shirt for Tyler, along with the jacket the younger had worn the night before. The outfit gets tossed to Tyler. “It's cold, and you're not leaving in shorts and a t-shirt.”

“Thanks.”

  


Josh hangs around Brendon's house with Tyler, saying something about gas prices and laziness. Brendon gets up long enough to answer the door, and, long story short, he looks like shit. He's wrapped in his blanket, and he only nods towards his room once Tyler and Josh are both in the house.

Josh and Tyler stand in Brendon's bedroom, talking, and Tyler's in the middle of asking him a question when he hears a camera shutter going off, then going off again once he and Josh look towards Brendon. He hands the two of them the pictures, earning a squint from Tyler, and a quick huff of breath from Josh.

Tyler takes the picture where he's looking at josh, asking the question, and Josh takes the one where they're looking at the camera, trying to process what'd happened. Tyler places his Polaroid in the credit card slot on his phone case, and Josh puts his own in his wallet, where the first one still remained.

Tyler kind of likes the new picture. Josh had some _look_ in his eyes as he was listening to the question, and Tyler looked just… _happy,_ which was a first, especially for a photo. Either way, it's only been a few minutes, and the photo already meant the world to Tyler.

  


Eventually, Mrs. Urie comes to retrieve Tyler from Brendon's room when his mother arrives. Josh follows him, mostly out of habit, and Tyler doesn't think twice, because it was kind of just a thing that happened whenever the two of them were together. Josh is kind of like Tyler's partner in crime, not to mention his shadow.

Tyler takes his clothes from his mother once he's standing in the living room of the Urie household, and thanks her. He's about to turn back around to go back into Brendon's room to wait for her to leave, but she interrupts his actions by asking, “Who's this?” in a surprisingly pleasant and innocent tone.

“Um. This is… Josh. He came by last night to hang out, and ended up spending the night.” Tyler accidentally makes eye contact with Brendon's dad, who's raising his eyebrows. “He's in my history class with me.” _I'm so glad Josh can pass for an eighteen year old._

Josh goes along with it, giving her one of his gorgeous grins, and Tyler tries not to be obvious as he stares at him in awe. Josh shakes Mrs. Joseph's hand, saying, “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Joseph.”

She smiles, sweetly, and shakes his hand back. “Kelly is fine. It's nice to meet you too, Josh. Tyler, you should invite him over sometime. You never have friends over anymore.”

Tyler shifts uncomfortably, and mutters, “I'll look into it,” under his breath.

  


Tyler gets added to a group conversation on Kik during his free period on Monday.

  


_**BRENDADDY has added skeleton boy and peter to the conversation.** _

**BRENDADDY:** ty, pete, what are u guys doing for halloween

 **skeleton boy:** i was gonna call josh on skype and watch a few halloween movies

 **peter:** i was gonna just like... stalk you no offense brendon

 **BRENDADDY:** okay both of u cancel those plans cuz i got invited to a party so i want both of you with me

 **skeleton boy:** what kind of party

 **peter:** assuming it's the one spencer is throwing it's gonna be booze, spiked punch, beer, and weed

 **BRENDADDY:** yep thats the one

 **skeleton boy:** am i allowed to bring someone with me

 **BRENDADDY:** go for it im like spencers best friend so i can get away with just about anything

  


Tyler turns notifications off for Kik after that, and goes back to working on lyrics until he has to go to his next class.

  


Tyler sneaks out Monday night to hang out with Josh in the parking lot of a 24-hour McDonald's while they sip at milkshakes and work on getting down an order of french fries. “Hey, J?”

“Yeah, little dude?” Josh raises an eyebrow, and makes eye contact with Tyler.

“For the last time, you're not that much taller than me, so shut up. Anyways, Brendon invited me to a party on Wednesday, and both him and Pete are kind of insufferable when they're drunk, so do you wanna go with me so I don't have to deal? And so I can also have a safe ride home?”

“Sure. I'll call in sick on Thursday or something so I don't have to worry about getting up.”

“Thank you so much, Josh.” Tyler pushes his luck, and kisses Josh on the cheek out of gratitude.

  


Wednesday comes, and Josh picks Tyler up from school that day. They go to his apartment, and spend a few hours getting into their costumes, before driving to the address Brendon had given Tyler.

Present time, it's around seven, and Tyler's standing in a corner sipping at some probably spiked punch with Josh, and making fun of Brendon, who's on the other side of the room trying to hit on someone. Pete had disappeared at some point, and neither of you had a clue as to where the hell he'd went. _I guess we could say… Pete Wentz. God, I fucking hate myself._

“I'm thinking about dying my hair.”

“What color?”

“I've been going back and forth between, like, cobalt blue, eggplant purple, red, and bubblegum pink.”

Tyler looks at Josh, trying to imagine each of the colors on him. “I think they'd all look really good, dude. Which one do you want?”

“That's why I'm asking you, because I want all of them. I had my hair blue for a while when I was, like, fifteen, and then it was purple for a while too, but I let my hair grow out, so I'm all conflicted.”

Tyler listens to Josh agonizing over his hair for a few minutes before rolling his eyes and interrupting him. “Dye it red. You've had blue and purple, and red will fade to either orange or pink, so dye it red. Anyways, I think you'd look cute.” _Fuck. I meant to say cool. Why did I say cute? God he's going to ha—oh my god. He's blushing._

Josh grins shyly, and knocks into Tyler's hip with his own. “Shut up. You're the cute one here. I'm just a simple worm.”

“Oh, shut the hell up, Josh. You're freakin' adorable.”

“Total lie. I'm not even a worm, dude. I'm a pupa, You, though—you're like… You're the smallest and cutest little kitten.”

“If by kitten, you mean I'm that one ugly cat with the underbite, then you're spot on.”

“All cats are cute, so your point is null.” Josh rolls his eyes, totally too dramatically, sighs, and then pulls Tyler into an obnoxious hug. “My poor sunflower child. Why can't you see that you're a cutie?”

Tyler giggles, and shoves Josh off of him. “Get offa me, you load.”

“Tyler, please, come back—become one with me; let's be the ultimate skeleton.”

“Okay, man, I was on board with the twin skeleton idea, but I'm not fusing with you. That's just a little too far.”

Josh pouts a bit before they change the subject.

  


Around nine, a group of the other teenagers start up a game of Truth or Dare. Tyler ends up getting dragged into the game by Brendon, and Tyler takes Josh with him, on the grounds of, “If I'm suffering, then you're suffering with me.”

Just before the game starts, Tyler gets a text from Brendon.

  


**Brendon:** hey remember how you told me that you liked josh

 **Tyler:** I will piss on everything you own if you do anything

  


Tyler looks up from his phone, and across the circle of teenagers to give Brendon the dirtiest look he could muster, only to be met with the most shit-eating look Brendon's ever given him. Josh gives either of them a weird look, and Tyler shakes his head rapidly, thanking god that he's wearing face paint, so that Josh couldn't see the blush.

Brendon doesn't even end up picking on Tyler. He picks _Josh._ “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Brendon's smug, shit eating little expression lands on Tyler as he says, “Seven minutes in heaven with Tyler.”

Tyler fights the urge to throw a beer bottle at Brendon as Josh stands up, and tugs Tyler along to a coat closet. As implied by the title of said closet, it's not overly spacious, and given that neither he nor Josh are the shortest or smallest people around, it was a pretty tight fit. To add to the awkwardness of the situation, either of them were wearing spandex skeleton printed jumpsuits.

Tyler, being too awkward to actually say anything out loud, decides to text Josh.

  


**Tyler:** soo what are we even supposed to do

 **Josh:** idk exist until brendon opens the door??

 **Tyler:** aren't we supposed to kiss or something like isnt that what you do in 7 minutes in heaven or whatever????

 **Josh:** I mean we don't have to but thats what they all say but we dont gotta

 **Josh:** unless you want to then im down

 **Tyler:** I mean

 **Tyler:** will it make things weird…?

 **Josh:** I thought I made things weird on friday with the brownie batter lol

 **Tyler:** it was weird for like maybe an hour but I got over it

 **Josh:** oh

 **Josh:** wanna make out then?

 **Josh:** no strings ofc

 **Tyler:** theyre gonna know though because of our face paint

 **Josh:** we're gonna get shit either way

 **Tyler:** kiss me before I back out then

  


Josh doesn't need to be asked twice. Tyler barely gets enough time to put his phone back into the pocket of his jacket before Josh is tugging him closer, hands on Tyler's waist, so he can kiss the boy with ease. Tyler wasn't really sure what he expected it to be like when (or if) he kissed Josh for the first time, but that wasn't it.

Tyler had kissed a few girls before, but it'd never been anything special. Mostly it'd just been at parties Brendon had dragged him to, similar to this one. The kisses had mostly just been sloppy and actually kind of disgusting. Tyler was always expected to lead, and leading really wasn't in his nature. Tyler's not overly submissive or anything, but he's not really the kind of guy who initiates things, or who makes first moves.

Kissing a guy is different than kissing a girl. For one thing, Josh has stubble, and the stubble on his chin rubs against Tyler's just a little bit. Girls are all soft and pliable, but Josh isn't. He's not rough or anything like that, but he definitely isn't letting Tyler have complete control of the kiss.

He's slow, gentle, and warm. If it weren't for the fact that the two of them were in a coat closet at some high school party, Tyler would've called the whole thing romantic. Josh keeps his hands firmly planted on Tyler's waist, pulling him closer every once in a while, to deepen the kiss, and Tyler keeps his hands resting politely on Josh's shoulders, and sometimes the back of his head.

Tyler's kind of surprised that Josh isn't getting grabby with him either. It's not as if he was expecting for Josh to practically molest him, but he figured the older boy would've at least tried to cop a feel, or _something._ (Tyler likes to think that he wouldn't have protested if Josh were to grab his ass or something, but in reality, Tyler probably would've swatted his hand away and given him a dirty look.)

Kissing Josh like this also makes Tyler realize how absolutely horrible he is at kissing, and it makes him pray to a god he doesn't believe in that Josh doesn't notice, or at least doesn't comment on it. Tyler's also not really sure how _good_ kissing is supposed to feel in comparison to bad kissing, but he's, like, ninety percent sure that Josh is at least decent at it.

Eventually, one of Tyler's hands takes up permanent residence on the back of Josh's head, threading itself through the older boy's hair, and his other hand remains on his shoulder. Josh's hands end up on Tyler's hips, and Tyler gets a very strong sense of satisfaction at the ungodly noise Josh makes when he decides to tug at his hair experimentally.

Josh kind of chuckles into the kiss at that, and Tyler tries his best not to smile.

Tyler's nerves are running wild, and every single point of his body that's in contact with Josh's seems to be on fire. His skin is crawling, in a good way, if that's even possible, and everything is just so… _intense._ The way Josh's lips are moving against his, the way Josh's sports deodorant and lavender detergent smells, the way Josh is gripping his hips oh-so gently—all of it is _intense._

It doesn't go on for much longer before the closet door is being flung open, and Brendon's standing there, trademark shit-eating smirk on his face. Tyler just groans, and shoves Brendon away, saying, “Fuck off,” at the giggle he draws from the boy.

  


Tyler goes home with Josh around midnight, mostly since Brendon, his car, and the guy he'd been hitting on went missing, and since Pete had been too hammered to bother trying to get Tyler home himself.

He sits on the counter in Josh's bathroom while the latter works on getting face paint off of Tyler's, y'know, face, with make up wipes. Josh had agreed to take Tyler to school the next morning.

“Did you have fun at the party?” Josh asks, casually.

Tyler nods slightly. “Yeah, but I'm never playing Spin the Bottle or Truth or Dare ever again.”

Josh snorts. “Yeah, same. Party games like that haven't ever really been my bag. At least Brendon was nice enough not to make you do anything too extreme.”

“I almost threw a beer bottle at him when he pulled the 'seven minutes in heaven' bullshit.”

Josh half-mutters, “You're not half bad at kissing,” under his breath as he starts working on getting make up off of Tyler's neck.

“I'm horrible at it, dude. Don't even try to reassure me.”

“Eh, I've had worse.”

Tyler lightly kicks Josh in the shin with his foot.

  


After the two of them are cleaned up, and out of their spandex jumpsuits and into pajamas, they settle down onto Josh's couch to watch horror movies on Netflix. In Tyler's opinion, the movies aren't really that scary, but Josh still yelps once in a while and cowers into Tyler's side, which the younger finds absolutely adorable.

“Josh, this isn't even that scary.”

“Shut up; it is too. I hate children in horror movies. They're creepy.”

“This one isn't even a child, dude. She's like… thirty. In the movie, at least.”

“That's even _worse,_ Tyler. God, I hate children so much.”

Tyler tries not to laugh at him as he calls Josh a nerd.

Josh whacks him in the arm in response.

  


By two, either of them are pretty tired, and Tyler finally works up the nerve to ask Josh a question. “Hey, J?”

“Yeah?”

“Homecoming is coming up in a few weeks, and, uh, I was kind of wondering if you wanted to go with me or whatever.” Tyler shifts awkwardly, and looks down into his lap while he waits for a rejection.

The rejection never comes, though. “Dude, of course. That sounds fun.”

_Fuck yeah. Mission accomplished._

  


Homecoming comes along, and Tyler's parents are miffed that he didn't stay home for the few hours beforehand. They wanted to get their pictures, which is totally understandable, but Tyler figured that by the time prom rolled around, they wouldn't care. (He has vague plans to come out sometime after he turned eighteen, but still wasn't overly sure about it.)

Josh, obviously, is his date. Tyler walks to Brendon's house, and Josh shows up about twenty minutes later, looking absolutely gorgeous, what with his comb backed hair, and his sharp suit that fits surprisingly well. He just… he looks so, _so_ good. Tyler just about starts weeping.

When they make eye contact for the first time, Josh's eyes are pretty much just glowing, and he has a dumb little grin on his face that doesn't leave his face for more than a few seconds. Tyler, for once, smiles with his teeth, because he's pretty giddy and really excited.

For whatever reason, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph were feeling pretty lenient, and gave Tyler a curfew of one in the morning. The dance itself didn't start until seven, give or take, meaning that group was canceled, and that Tyler had tons of time to blow with Josh.

Seven teenagers (Tyler, Patrick, Pete, Brendon, Ashley, her date, and Brendon's date) and Josh, plus Brendon's parents, crammed into the small living room of his house was a little uncomfortable. Brendon had his dumb Polaroid camera out, snapping pictures of everyone, especially Tyler and Josh in particular. Why does he have an obsession with the two of them? Tyler has not a clue. This time, though, the two of them had given him prior consent to be photographed.

The two of them get four pictures. The first one is pretty traditional; Tyler and Josh are standing next to each other, Josh with an arm around Tyler's waist, and Tyler with an arm around Josh's, both smiling politely. The second picture, either of them are pulling ugly faces, and in the third, they're laughing at each other. In the fourth, Josh had leaned down slightly to kiss Tyler on the lips, and Brendon had managed to capture the exact moment of, _'Holy shit, there's a cute guy kissing me and I really don't know how to handle it.'_

(Tyler takes the kissing one, even though it's the riskiest, and Josh keeps the other three in his wallet where four others remain.)

  


Come six forty-five, the group sets off for the high school. It's a given, but Tyler rides with Josh, and everyone else manages to cram themselves into Brendon's shitty Volkswagen, which is just… it's something that no one thought could be done. (Brendon also takes the Polaroid camera with him, and Tyler figures that, by the end of the night, he'd have at least five more pictures of him and Josh.)

  


“So,” Tyler starts, quietly, during the middle of a slow dance. He's trying to ignore the confused and slightly disgusted looks of his peers, because, hey, he's having fun. “Is this gay or platonic?”

Josh looks down to where his hands are resting on Tyler's waist before going back up to his face. “Whatever you want it to be.”

“Can it be gay?”

“Yeah, man.”

Tyler grins sweetly, and pecks Josh on the lips before the two of them fall into a quiet and surprisingly casual conversation. It doesn't last long, since Tyler manages to work himself into an almost panic attack. Josh takes notice almost immediately, and asks, “You wanna get out of here?” into Tyler's ear.

He just nods, almost violently, and lets Josh lead him out of the gym after explaining to one of their friends why they were leaving. On the way out, they hear someone drop a slur, and Josh, bless his kind, gay soul, turns around, and in a deathly serious tone, says, “I bench 180; come at me.”

Tyler figures he should've been losing his mind at Josh's remark, but instead, all he can do is just laugh at both his date, and the pretty mortified look that'd been on the guy's face, before the two of them walk out of the school, hand-in-hand, to Josh's car.

Once seat belts are buckled, Josh asks, “Where do you want to go?”

“Can we just go back to your apartment or something? Or, um, like, anywhere else but here…?”

(They end up at Josh's apartment.)

  


Josh doesn't bother with taking even his blazer or his tie off, or even attempting to before he's striding across his living room to flip through his slightly extensive collection of CDs and mixtapes, and settling on something slow and quiet. He walks back over to where Tyler's standing by the loveseat, and holds a hand out, saying, “Tyler Joseph, will you have this dance with me?”

Josh is biting his lip, trying not to laugh, because, hey, he's well aware of how corny he's being. Tyler smiles, and nods as he takes Josh's hand. There's a bit of room between the coffee table and his television, so they stand there, swaying back and forth slightly. Tyler's blushing something mad as Josh settles his hands on his hips, and as he throws his arms over Josh's shoulders. They're standing a little too close, both looking just so _happy._

Given that the two of them are alone this time, everything is more intimate, and Tyler can hear his own pulse in his ears as something catches in his throat. On a whim, he leans forward to kiss Josh on the lips for a second time that night, but this time it lasts longer, and it's gentler. There's not a whole bunch of fireworks behind it, or anything corny and pretentious like that, but it's still special, and marks something significant in Tyler Joseph's life nonetheless. On top of that, it's one of the only times he's been able to have any sort of not-so-platonic physical contact with Josh that doesn't make him feel guilty or ashamed in the slightest.

Tyler looks into his eyes for a few moments, before his mind is coming to a screeching halt as he has the sudden realization of, _'I think I love him. Fuck.'_

He tries moving his head away, as if to shake the thought out of his head, but Josh interrupts him with another kiss, and by pulling him just a tad bit closer. Tyler totally gives in. He grins into the next kiss, as does Josh, and they kind of giggle just a tiny little bit. Time passes, and neither of them say anything as they share kisses here and there.

At some point, Tyler's emotions get the best of him, or so he assumes, because he feels tears start to well up in his eyes. They aren't sad tears, but rather… happy. It's totally corny, and Josh gets concerned. He starts to freak out a little bit, thinking he might've done something wrong. “No, I'm fine, Josh. I'm just—I'm kind of like, really happy right now.”

“So… you're crying.”

“Oh, shut up, you ass. I'm overwhelmed because I've been kissing this really sweet and wonderful guy for the past twenty minutes, and he's making me feel like a prince, he's too good for me, and he's probably my best friend, and I feel super blessed that I have the privilege of even knowing him, let alone being able to call him my best friend, and he makes me happy, and for fuck's sake I _kissed_ him.”

An indecipherable expression comes across Josh's face, and it scares Tyler. It's either good or bad, and as time passes, he's starting to think it's bad. He's growing more and more mortified, and kind of embarrassed at what he'd just confessed. Tyler's considering just running out of his apartment, and probably actually would have if Josh hadn't have pulled him into a bone crushing hug right before he was about to act on the thought.

Josh inhales, and then exhales shakily near Tyler's ear before he talks in a vulnerable voice that's a whole new level of gentle. Josh is a gentle guy in general and, Tyler thought he'd seen all of his gentle sides, but apparently he hadn't. “I really don't know what it is with you, but you've managed to worm your way into my gay heart. You mean so, _so_ much to me, and if I'm honest, at the very least, the best friend feeling is mutual.” He kisses the top of the younger boy's head, and finishes his own small confession with, “I feel privileged just to even be in your presence. You're wonderful.”

Tyler detaches himself from the older boy so he can wipe at his eyes. He explains himself by saying, “I'm gonna get tears on your blazer.”

Josh rolls his eyes slightly. “You've cried on me before. You know I don't care. Also, tears don't stain.”

Tyler sighs. “True.” As he's hiding his face in his hands, he asks, “Can we, um, like, cuddle or something…?”

Josh smiles and chuckles a little bit. “Yeah. Take your shoes off, though. I don't want my furniture dirty.”

The boy nods, and wipes his eyes once more before kicking his loafers off.

  


Cuddling with Josh is kind of weird, but it's also not weird. Tyler's cuddled with him before, mostly either on accident, or if he'd had been having a panic attack, but this time, it wasn't for comfort, or because the two of them had fallen asleep or something. He's situated between Josh's arm and his side on the couch, with one hand settling on Josh's chest, and the other fiddling with his hair a bit. Josh has a hand on the small of Tyler's back, and has his other one bent behind his head as some sort of makeshift pillow.

Tyler spends a decent amount of time trying to pinpoint the feeling he was, y'know, feeling, before coming to a conclusion: safe. He feels safe. He felt like, at least for as long as Josh was holding him, he'd be safe, and that nothing would get to him. He felt as if he was able to forget about having to hide himself from his parents, or as if he couldn't feel the need to skirt around the bullies at school and, hell, he felt like that even God couldn't get to him.

Tyler apparently gets lost in his thoughts at some point, because he finds himself being dragged out of them by Josh asking, “Hey, Tyler? Can I ask something?”

“You just did.”

“Shush, and answer me you little smart ass.”

Tyler giggles. “Alright, alright. What is it?”

Josh takes a deep breath, and hesitates for a second, before getting to the point. “Do you want to try, like… dating? Being boyfriends? Hanging out but also kissing and hugging and cuddling sometimes? Y'know, uh, the whole shebang and all.”

Tyler knows his answer, but it takes him a few moments to actually say it. “I'd like that, Josh.”

  


Two hours and a change of relationship statuses on Facebook later, the two boys make out for the second time. It's a little different this time, mostly considering they aren't in Spencer Smith's coat closet at his Halloween party. Tyler's straddling Josh on his couch, and Josh's hands are wandering a little more than the last time, running up and down Tyler's sides and back, but never going further down than his hips, which he's thankful for. He's glad that Josh isn't making him feel pressured, and that he isn't trying anything.

  


Josh walks Tyler to his door that night, and after making sure no one was looking, and that neither of them would be caught, he leans down and plants one final gentle kiss to Tyler's lips, saying, “I hope you had a good time tonight.”

“Josh, I've got a hot boyfriend. Of course I had a good time.”

He grins stupidly and hugs Tyler before walking back to his car.

Tyler smiles to himself as he watches Josh.

  


The Monday following homecoming is hell, mostly since, apparently, it only took the weekend for the news of Tyler being gay to spread like wild fire throughout the school. People were staring, whispering, and some people even had the gall to say some incredibly rude things to Tyler's face.

By Tuesday, some of the 'popular' guys are knocking into Tyler in the hall, and would either knock his books/notebooks out of his hands in the process, or they'd pretty much propel him at a wall since he weighed, like, tow pounds, and even an ounce of outside pressure could catapult him into orbit.

Wednesday is when Brendon and Pete start to notice. They start walking Tyler to his classes when they could. They'd get called a slew of things just for associating with Tyler, but, thankfully, either of them were relatively secure in their sexuality and masculinity, meaning they were able to ignore and disregard all of the comments.

On Thursday, some guy who has fifty pounds of just muscle mass on Tyler, easy, shoves him into a wall. Intentionally. It wouldn't have been such a big deal if it weren't for the fact that it'd been his face that had collided with the wall. Tyler thanks the lord that he didn't have any of his notebooks or his textbooks in his hands as he'd made his way to a bathroom, cradling his bloody nose.

He would've gone to the principal, or to a teacher or a counselor, but he was terrified that they'd call home, and out him to his parents.

Once he's in the bathroom, with a wad of paper towels over his nose, he pulls his phone out to text Brendon.

  


**Tyler:** where are you at right now

 **Brendon:** west wing in the main building why

 **Tyler:** kinda got shoved into a wall and my nose is bleeding yikes

 **Tyler:** can you go to my locker and get my jacket and my wallet? my locker number is 427 and my combo is 5-25-37

 **Tyler:** im in the boys restroom in the art building btw

 **Brendon:** dude dont sweat it do u need anything else

 **Tyler:** no but i would rly appreciate it if u would drive me to a subway or something because i need to stress eat

 **Brendon:** would you buy me a sandwich too

 **Tyler:** yeah

 **Brendon:** cool see u in like five minutes

  


Tyler's sitting on one of the sinks, phone in hand, playing Paplinko when Brendon walks in. His nose had quit bleeding at that point, but his face was starting to bruise the tiniest bit, which was actually kind of annoying. "Christ, Tyler, you must've been shoved pretty hard."

"I dunno if I was, but I only weigh, like, two pounds."

"True, true." Brendon frowns and walks over to Tyler to take his chin in his hand and to examine his nose. "I don't think it's broken, but it'll probably be sore for a few days. Pete's broken his nose enough that I'd know a broken nose when I saw one."

"How...?"

"He's Pete. He totaled his car, but only got away with whiplash. Don't question him."

"Ah." Tyler slides off of the sink, and uses Brendon to balance himself. He takes his jacket from the slightly younger boy, along with his wallet, before leading the way out of the bathroom. Brendon, although shorter than Tyler, throws an arm around his shoulders as they walk out of the building, and glares at anyone who even so much as looks at Tyler wrong, as if to say, _"I'll beat the shit out of you if you even take a step near him."_

Brendon, in all honestly, isn't really that intimidating. Like mentioned, he's a little shorter than Tyler, and he's not overly muscular either. He is mouthy and eloquent when he wants to be, though, and could absolutely destroy a fly's self confidence within a matter of seconds, so Tyler figures that people value their self confidence over their need to pick on him. (Pete's not overly intimidating either, but he can throw a wicked punch.)

  


A week and two days after Tyler's shoved into the wall, he turns eighteen. He's now, legally, an adult, and he's technically free from whatever grasp his parents had on his life. (Or have.) He has a small birthday party, and his friend group is invited. Josh, Brendon, Pete, Patrick, and Ashley all show up, each of them bearing gifts. It's kind of weird having friends bring actual gifts, but he doesn't complain.

Tyler's parents take his siblings and step out for a few hours to give him and his friends some alone time to exchange gifts and to hang out a little bit before they all follow the plan to head to Pete's house to openly be gay, and to also marathon a TV show for a few hours before everyone went home. (Or at least until Ashley, Brendon, and Patrick went home.)

Anyways, to the gifts. As a joke, Brendon had gotten Tyler a box of ribbed condoms, and Pete had pitched in with a bottle of 'warming' lube. Tyler sputters as his cheeks go read, and Josh, being the little shit he is, just takes the box of condoms and lube from Tyler, and before wrapping them in his jacket, he says, "Huh. These looks fun." (Tyler gives him a mortified look and a whack to the arm, while the other four in the room laugh until they're crying.)

Ashley had gotten Tyler a pride flag, and he hugs her when she hands it to him. "I'll have to hide it under my bed or something, but thank you." _I wish I didn't live in a house of homophobes. I'm not too sure about Madison, but I don't want to get my hopes up._

Patrick makes a comment about being the grandpa of the group as he hands Tyler a sloppily wrapped present. He isn't sure what the short boy had meant until he rips the package open and sees a pack of tube socks. He laughs, and hugs Patrick, saying, "Thanks. I was running low."

Josh had to run out to his car to get his presents for Tyler, since they were apparently pretty gay, and since he didn't want to risk Tyler's parents seeing them. He comes back inside bearing a ridiculously large bouquet of pink, red, and white roses, which makes Tyler laugh. Everyone else lets out a ridiculously loud and drawn out, “Aw,” at the bouquet.

(Josh also gives Tyler a corny birthday card with a heartfelt note that makes Tyler tear up. Along with that, he'd given Tyler a jacket that he thought would look cool on him, and Tyler made plans to wear that jacket every day of his goddamn life.)

Tyler has the bouquet in his hands, and Josh had been leaning down to kiss him on the lips when he heard the signature sound of Brendon's fucking camera going off. As usual, the first picture he'd taken was the one where they weren't expecting it, and the second one, Tyler was coming towards the camera, trying to grab it, and Josh was in the background losing his shit.

  


After finding a vase for the bouquet, everyone heads to Pete's house to marathon the TV show.

Tyler ends up falling asleep in the middle of an episode, and he wakes up curled into Josh's side after hearing Brendon's camera for the third time that night. In the past two and a half months, Tyler's been trained to wake up as soon as he heard the shutter of a camera going off, thanks to Brendon and his ornery nature.

  


“ _Hey, Brendon? Why do you take so many pictures of me and Josh?”_

“ _The two of you are cute, and you always look really happy when you're with him, so I just think it's one of those things that should be photographed, y'know?”_

“ _Oh.”_

  


Midnight rolls around, and Tyler's standing in Josh's kitchen sipping at a bottle of water, scrolling through his twitter feed while Josh changes into pajamas in his bedroom.

Tyler gave up on trying to find something comfortable to wear, so he just took all of his clothes off, save for his boxers. Josh walks into the kitchen, in only a tank top and a pair of flannel pants, holding a photo album. Tyler is suddenly glad Josh is now his boyfriend, since that means he can blatantly check him out now.

“Hey, uh, I forgot to grab this when I left my apartment earlier, but here.” He hands Tyler the photo album, and when he opens it, he finds all of the Polaroids that Brendon had given Josh fit into the appropriate slots. “I was gonna wait until Christmas, but, dude, we're like, really cute.”

Tyler grins, and flips his phone over to grab his own collection of Polaroid pictures. Josh stands behind him with his head tucked into the space between Tyler's shoulder and his neck while he watches him put the pictures into the album. After he's finished with that, Tyler starts to look through the album more closely. “Hey, Ty? You look really different.”

“Probably because, for the most part, I've quit caring about what people think of me, and I've accepted that we're all going to die one day, so I might as well get myself some dick while I can.”

Josh makes a soft 'pff' noise and Tyler wants to laugh a little bit at how Josh's smile, and his stubble, tickles the side of his neck a little bit.

“I like this first picture. You look all peaceful when you sleep.”

“What can I say? Your head makes a good pillow.”

“Uh-huh. Your shoulder isn't half bad either.”

The second picture in the album had been from the day after the first one. Tyler's pretty sure Josh had cracked a dirty joke, mostly because he's hiding his face behind his hands, and Josh looked as if he was gasping for breath just from laughing so hard. “This is a bit pretentious, but I can kind of see why Brendon takes pictures of us. Whenever I look at pictures from before I met you or whatever, I just looked so _sad,_ but in all of these I just _don't,_ and it's weird.”

Josh nods a little bit, and presses a tiny little kiss onto Tyler's shoulder. “Y'know, you've already asked me this, like, three times in the past week and a half, but why do you like me?”

“Listen, man, I'm self conscious.” Tyler rolls his eyes. “I dunno. You're nice to me, and you treat me better than anyone else I know. You've also been incredibly kind to me since I met you, and you have the patience of a saint when dealing with me, even if I'm a blubbering mess. Added, you don't brush me off, ever, and I kind of really enjoy your presence.”

After that, Tyler turns around to face Josh, and he finds himself being captured into a pretty passionate kiss. He's still super horrible at kissing, given it's only been a month since he's started kissing regularly, but, as usual, Josh doesn't really care. The two of them have been all over each other, and Tyler's been sneaking out almost every night since they started dating just so they can park Josh's car somewhere private and make out until Tyler gives in and has Josh drive him home so either of them can at least get a few hours of sleep.

Josh subconsciously presses himself, and his hips, against Tyler. The younger definitely doesn't complain, given he's a horny eighteen year old looking for any sort of sexual relief. Tyler's hands end up threading themselves through Josh's fluffy brown hair that he never got around to dying for the millionth time, and he tugs on it. His hair is getting long enough that it's starting to give Tyler flashbacks to Brendon's emo phase. (Though, Brendon is kind of still in his emo phase, if the eyeliner has anything to say about it.)

Once the kissing starts escalating a little more than usual, Josh tentatively asks, “You wanna move this to the bedroom?”

Tyler nods, like, super enthusiastically in response. He kind of laughs at how Josh politely holds his hand as he leads him to his bedroom. They stand next to Josh's bed awkwardly until Josh blurts out, “Um, I'm kind of still a virgin and don't really have a clue on what the hell I'm doing.”

Tyler's eyes widen in shock. “You're a _virgin?_ But—the way you talk about sex—and—like— _how?”_

“I'm good at bluffing?” Josh gives him an awkward grin as he scratches the back of his neck.

“I mean… we don't _have_ to have sex or anything if you don't wanna?”

Josh takes a step forward, and kisses Tyler again, saying, “You wanna just see where this goes instead of trying to plan something?”

He nods, and leans forward a bit to kiss his boyfriend again. As they kiss, Tyler thinks about what it's like to be a normal teenager. He never really considered himself one, at least until now. Normal teenagers drink and smoke, and have awkward yet happy and somewhat fumbling-around sex with their boyfriends and girlfriends, and he's kind of doing that right now.

Okay, he's not having sex, but everything kind of feels innocent right now despite all the innuendo and subtext. Josh is suddenly acting softer, even as either of them crawl onto his bed. Tyler sits in his lap, and fiddles with the hem of Josh's tank top before he takes it off. Before they resume the kiss, Tyler's saying, “I kind of forgot you had nipple piercings.”

“You always forget until I take my shirt off,” He chuckles.

“It's not like you're always walking around with out a shirt. Though, with as hard as your nipples constantly are, you'd think I wouldn't forget.” Tyler kisses him again, and runs his hands up Josh's chest until he's able to lightly rub his thumbs across his nipples. Josh groans, and Tyler giggles.

Josh pinches his hip and laughs with him. “Quit that. They're sensitive.”

As expected either of them get worked up, and eventually, Josh slides a hand into Tyler's boxers to squeeze his ass just the tiniest little bit. Tyler makes a quiet nose, and accidentally rolls his hips. Josh makes a choked noise, since he wasn't expecting the sudden friction.

Tyler's boxers and Josh's flannel pants come off at some other point, and as Josh is slowly and experimentally stroking Tyler's dick, which is painfully hard, by the way, he sucks bruises into the younger's neck. He's not really thinking about it, and Tyler isn't complaining. They're just going with the flow, as cliché as it sounds.

After Josh is done sucking a hickey into Tyler's left collarbone, he pulls back a bit to ask, “Can I try something?”

Tyler pulls back even further to look Josh in the eyes. “Depends on what it is.”

“Can I just—can I show you?” Josh bites his lip, and he looks a little nervous.

“Yeah. I trust you.”

That strikes a chord with Josh, and he grins really wide, causing Tyler to melt.

Tyler finds himself being rolled onto his back, and then Josh is moving down on his body, leaving little marks on his way, and, _whoa,_ okay, there's a mouth on his dick.

  


After Tyler's given Josh a kind of sloppy hand job, and after they've wiped cum off of each other with tissues, they lay next to each other under the covers, holding hands, and trying to get their pulses and breathing under control. “Was it good?”

“Yes. Very good. I don't think I've ever came that hard enough.”

Josh snorts. “I've sucked plenty of dicks before, but it's different when you're doing it with someone you care about, I guess.”

“Plenty of dicks? Spill the tea.”

“Pete dared me to suck a hundred dicks over the course of a summer. He said he'd give me five hundred dollars if I did.”

“And did you?”

“Of fucking course I did. Do you think I'm going to pass up five hundred bucks?”

Tyler giggles. “How'd you prove it to him?”

“Selfies. I still have the album on my phone. It's titled 'The Summer of One Hundred Blowjobs.'”

“Oh my god. Well, that explains why you don't have a gag reflex.”

“Yeah, man. I had to wait until I turned eighteen to start, so I only had a few months to get it done.”

“When's your birthday anyways?” Tyler asks as he rolls over to rest his head on Josh's chest.

“June eighteenth.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

  


The next morning, Tyler's woken up to Josh kissing his neck, and mumbling, “Wake up. I wanna make you breakfast,” into it.

Tyler grunts, and opens his eyes. He blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the sudden bright light. Once his eyes are actually used to it, he looks over to his boyfriend. Josh looks super sleepy, and feels warm against his side. His eyes look almost gold in the sunlight that's filtering through the curtains, and he's giving Tyler a look of pure adoration. It's cute.

“Breakfast?”

“Mhm.” He kisses Tyler's jaw this time.

“What'd you have in mind?”

“Either I make, eggs, pancakes, and sausage,” he totally obviously grinds his hips against Tyler's leg at that, and Tyler rolls his eyes, “or we can go to Denny's or something.”

“For one thing, get your dick off me, and another thing, I hate Denny's. Either you cook or we go to IHOP.”

“Sorry, man, I'm just trying to cop a hand job.”

“You're still a nerd.”

“I'll accept that.”

  


After Tyler's brushed his teeth with the tooth brush Josh has set out for him specifically, he's sitting at Josh's rickety little dining table with his chin resting in one of his hands, watching Josh cook. “Did you really have to give me hickeys?”

“Yes. I had to mark my territory. I am the alpha male.”

 _Snort. “I'm_ the alpha male in this relationship.” Tyler squints as Josh turns around to give him one of those ' _really'_ looks.

“You sure about that, tiger? Are you absolutely _sure?”_

“Totally. I'm _so_ an alpha male.”

Josh rolls his eyes. “You wanna borrow some button-ups to cover the hickeys?”

“As long as I get to wear your floral one, then yes.”

“That's a bit much, man. I'm pretty attached to that shirt.”

“But it'd look so cute on me,” Tyler whines.

“You're right.”

“Hey, Josh?”

“Hm?”

“I just thought of this, but can I keep the photo album here…? I don't want to risk my parents seeing it and taking it. It's kind of important to me, so y'know.”

“Of course, don't worry about it.” Josh doesn't even seem the slightest bit dejected, and Tyler is immensely relieved.

  


That Monday, Tyler's sitting in Brendon's car with, obviously, Brendon, as well as Pete, trying not to freeze their asses off. Tyler's done a good job at covering up the hickeys so far with button-ups and strategically placed jacket hoods, but his slip up happens when he goes to itch his neck. Brendon is _immediately_ on that shit. “Tyler, did Josh give you a hickey?”

As soon as he says that, Pete's poking his head into the front seat from his place behind Tyler, and he's looking at his neck. He touches one of the hickeys, causing Tyler to bat his hand away. “Quit that. Look, we were making out, and he got carried away. Due to being a hormonal and horny teenager, I didn't notice the hickeys until Saturday morning.

“Wait, hold up. Hickeys? Plural?”

 _Fuck._ “No…?”

“Bullshit. Where else?” Brendon's giving him a pointed look.

“Collarbones and shoulders.”

“You have more, Tyler.” Brendon looks like Tyler's fucking mom right now, and Tyler is slowly caving in on himself.

“My chest.”

“Where else.”

“Seriously? Neck, shoulders, collarbones, and chest isn't enough for you?”

“No, Tyler. You got more. I know what your lying face looks like.”

Pete is pretty much sitting on the console of Brendon's car now, staring Tyler down.

Tyler groans. “My thighs too.”

Now, at _that,_ both of them get shit-eating looks on their faces, and start patting Tyler on the back, congratulating him. Tyler starts counting in his head the seconds until one of them eventually asks, “Did the two of you fuck?”

It took forty-two and it was Pete that had asked.

“No, Pete, I didn't have sex with him.”

  


The next big event in both Tyler's life and his relationship with Josh happens on Christmas Eve. His parents had thrown a semi formal, and modest, Christmas party, and had allowed Tyler to invite one friend over, so of course he invites Josh. Everyone in Tyler's family, including his parents, his siblings, other relatives, and their friends all liked Josh, which Tyler's thankful for. _Maybe it'll be easier for them to process it when I come out and tell them he's my boyfriend._

By ten, the party is over, and Tyler's parents send everyone off to bed. Of course, what they don't know, is that by sending Tyler and Josh up to bed, they were basically giving them permission to fool around.

Tyler likes Josh, obviously. He's absolutely wonderful, and treats Tyler like a prince. Tyler enjoys that Josh builds him up, and supports him. Josh makes him feel like a better person, and he's pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

Everything is pure, and genuine, and it's so, so sweet. Like, sweet as in cool, but also sweet as in cute and nice. Josh is totally one for politely holding Tyler's hand in public, and holding open doors along with other typically chivalrous things.

Nothing feels forced either. Everything just comes naturally to them.

Tyler's never really considered himself an affectionate person, but as expected, he's that way with Josh. He's not huge on physical contact either, not even with his family or any of his friends, but he is with _Josh._ It's probably expected given that they're together, and that Tyler's pretty sure he loves Josh, but it's still a little odd.

In the month and a half he'd been dating Josh, he figures out pretty quick that the older boy is a tease. There'd been a few times that Josh had been the deciding factor in whether or not Tyler was going to get off, and he'd tease Tyler to the point of begging. Josh knows when to stop with his antics, but Tyler usually doesn't particularly mind.

That night, things start off slow, and the mood in the room is a little different than usual. It's not a bad different, but still different nonetheless. Josh is in Tyler's lap this time, and they're on his bed, leaning up against the wall, filled with soft kisses and gentle touches here and there. Soon, shirts are off, then pants and underwear, until eventually Josh kinda-sorta finds himself sprawled out on Tyler's bed.

Tyler's a little clumsy as he works his fingers in and out of Josh, and ends up having to put his other hand over Josh's mouth, since he's whining just a tiny bit, and Tyler would like to avoid being caught. When Josh peels Tyler's hand from his mouth to say, “I think I'm, uh, ready, to, y'know, do the thing,” Tyler's eyes pretty much pop out of his head.

“I can't believe this is happening,” Tyler says quietly as he pulls his fingers out of Josh and reaches to his left to grab the condom that Josh had produced from his wallet with the explanation of liking to come prepared, which had made Tyler snort and giggle a little bit.

“Yeah. Am I the only one who's really nervous?”

“Nope. I'm pretty nervous too.”

“That's—that's actually pretty reassuring.”

Tyler smiles sweetly, and opens the condom with slightly trembling hands. It takes him a few tries to roll the condom onto his dick, and then he's kneeling between Josh's legs, kind of pressing the tip of his dick against Josh. He leans down to kiss his adorable boyfriend, before asking, “Are you really sure about this?”

Josh nods. “Yeah. Just, um, be careful, please.”

“Of course I'll be careful. I wouldn't be anything besides that.”

Josh winces and inhales sharply when Tyler starts pushing in. Josh has one hand running up and down Tyler's back, and his other is held next to his head, fingers intertwined with the fingers on Tyler's left hand. Tyler's right arm is sorta propping himself. “Are you doin' okay, J?”

“Y-yeah, uh, stop for a second. M'trying to get used to it.”

Tyler nods and obeys, kissing him a few times until he gets the okay to continue on. Once he's bottomed out, Josh exhales slowly. Tyler strokes his dick a few times, hopefully trying to help distract him, because Tyler can only imagine what it feels like to have a dick in your ass. He figures he'll find out soon enough, though. “Do you wanna stop?” He asks tentatively.

Josh shakes his head. “Not really. It, um—it' feels kinda good, but y'know.”

Tyler nods, and pulls out all the way. “M'gonna use a little more lube.”

“I think that's a good idea.”

Josh doesn't wince as much, and he doesn't need to have Tyler slow down for a second when he pushes in for the second time. Tyler doesn't move for a while, but when he does—well—it feels better than any hand job, blow job, or any of the times he's gotten off on his own time. Josh is gasping a little bit, and is kind of scratching at Tyler's back. “F-fuck, oh god.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm—fine, but th— _christ, there there there.”_

Tyler just nods and kisses Josh again to try and muffle the noises coming out of his mouth. They both move a little awkwardly, but still in sync with each other, until either of them have _finished._ Tyler flops onto Josh's chest, panting heavily, and saying, “Holy shit.”

“That was fucking awesome,” Josh responds in a whisper.

“We gotta do that again some time.”

“Definitely.”

Ten or twenty minutes later, after a condom has been tied off and tossed into Tyler's waste bin, and after Josh's stomach/chest has been cleaned of semen, Tyler's mumbling, “Is it too soon to say I love you, or no?” into Josh's chest.

Josh shakes his head. “Nah. We're young and shit. We can do whatever we want, within reason of course.”

Tyler smiles dumbly, and falls asleep peacefully a few minutes later.

  


Tyler and Josh have sex again on New Year's, and that time, Tyler bottoms. The two of them figure out that they kinda like it better when Tyler bottoms that night. Throughout January, Tyler grows way more distant from his parents and the rest of his family. It's not really intentional, but as time goes on, and as his relationship with Josh continues to get more 'serious,' as they'd like to call it, he has to start hiding himself from everyone.

Honestly, Tyler's been growing more distance September, when he'd gone to that first meeting, but it just gets more obvious in January. His parents quit protesting when he goes out on weekends, and they quit making him go to church.

Tyler still goes to the meetings sometimes, but he's missed a few here and there. Mostly it's just his friend group that shows up, but once in a while a pair of lesbians pop up. (What surprises Tyler, though, is that Jenna, his girlfriend from when he was thirteen or fourteen, is one of them, and the other one is apparently one of Josh's ex girlfriends from freshman year.)

Ryan shows up sometimes, but not often, since, for whatever fucking reason, Brendon absolutely despises him. Tyler doesn't know when or what had happened between the two other teenagers, and he doesn't know if he ever _will_ know.

Tyler starts suspecting that his parents know something's up, mostly by the way his mother acts. She's a bit more snippy with him. His father, on the other hand, seems to be a little _less_ strict, and starts acting a little more _chill_ with him.

Tyler spends most weekdays at Brendon and Pete's houses, sometimes Patrick's, and almost all of his weekends are spent at Josh's apartment. (Sometimes he goes over to Josh's apartment on weekdays, but he doesn't really do that too often, mostly since he enjoys getting sleep, and he cant do that at Josh's apartment since Josh has to get him over to Brendon's house by five so he can get to work on time, and so that Tyler has a ride to school.)

Out of everyone's home, Tyler prefers Brendon's house, mostly since they're pretty good friends, and since Brendon lives super close to the school. Also, save for Pete, Brendon doesn't really have people dropping in very often. (Pete has a few friends that like to drop in, and while Tyler likes most of them, a few of them are just absolutely despicable.) Sometimes Tyler ends up at Pete's anyways, though, since Brendon's parents have their limits, despite how much they love Tyler.

  


February, in general, sucks, aside from the occasional good day here and there. The hazing/bullying gets worse, and there's only so much Brendon and Pete can do. Josh takes Tyler out to lunch when he can, since it at least gives him half an hour of a break. (Tyler feels guilty that Josh takes the time out of his day to do that, but whenever Tyler asks why, Josh just says he loves him, and that's why he's so adamant on getting Tyler lunch when he can.) Tyler really, really needs to go to a teacher or something, but he's still afraid of being outed.

Brendon and Pete both end up outing themselves to the school, because neither of them really saw why Tyler was the only one getting picked on for something that they could be picked on for as well. Also, they were tired of 'hiding' anyways. They started getting picked on as well, but it wasn't to the extent that Tyler was. Why it was so bad for Tyler, he doesn't really know.

He thinks that, maybe, it's because he's not as confident, or as attractive, or maybe it's because he's had at confrontation. He's at peace with himself as much as he can be at this point, but he's still not good at telling people off, or defending himself. All he really, truly knows how to do is cling to Brendon or Pete for dear life and pray no one tries to get physical with him.

Once in a while, though, people do get physical. It's to be expected. The most that has happened is someone throwing a punch, which Tyler managed to dodge by ducking. The guy's fist had hit the wall, and he broke a few fingers, so he'd left Tyler alone after that. (There's also been a few jocks (for lack of a better word) who've threatened to do unspeakable and, quite frankly, terrifying things to Tyler, so he made it a point to never be alone in one place for too long.)

  


The second time someone throws a punch, it actually hits Tyler's face.

Tyler had been standing in front of the school on the first Friday afternoon of February, waiting for Josh to pick him up when it'd happened. He'd just been looking at his phone, laughing at Pete's live tweet of something dumb he'd gotten himself into when a tall, muscular guy comes sauntering up to him.

Tyler kept his phone in his hand, with Josh's contact pulled up, ready to call at any moment. His eyes never left the guy. He starts talking, as if he wants a normal conversation, but, unfortunately, it turns sour pretty quick. He'd asked about what it was like to be gay, and although suspicious, Tyler answers him anyways, on the offhand chance that he was genuinely interested. “It's kind of just normal, I guess. It was kind of weird when I first realized it and stuff, but I'm cool with it now. I mean, I'm not constantly thinking about guys either, but I like them. Imagine thinking about girls, but it being a guy instead. That's what it's like, basically.”

He asked a few more things, and Tyler answered accordingly, up until he drops the bomb. “So, do you take it up the ass or something?”

Tyler figures that, in hindsight, he could've found a better response other than dryly saying, “I'm versatile,” before rolling his eyes and giving the guy a disgusted look. He doesn't like that response, obviously, so he reeled back and decked Tyler in the jaw, and called him a faggot. “Jesus, what the fuck, dude?!” Tyler keeps a hand on his jaw, trying to absorb the shock, when he finds himself being tackled to the ground.

A few more punches land on his face, then he feels the guy getting up to kick him in the legs, the stomach, and the chest a few times. It's a fucking terrifying experience, and Tyler literally starts crying the second he notices Josh and Patrick running towards him.

Josh is on the guy who was basically beating the crap out of him almost immediately, and Patrick has a look scary enough to curdle milk on the spot. Tyler stands up, and helps Patrick hold Josh back, lest he murders the overly large junior. The guy runs off, and Josh shouts, “You better run, you piece of fucking _shit!”_

For a guy who weighs about a hundred and fifty pounds, and who isn't overly muscular, Josh is really hard to hold back when he's pissed off. Tyler and Patrick both lack any sort of muscle tone whatsoever, so it takes everything in either of them to stop Josh from snapping the guys neck.

Eventually, after promising not to go after the guy, the two of them let go of Josh. He's seething, and he's red in the face, which is something Tyler hasn't seen before. His hands are shaking as he hands Tyler's backpack to Patrick, and he grips Tyler's arm just a little too tight as he walks the boy to his car.

  


Tyler shifts uncomfortably while Josh tries to decide on whether or not he should take Tyler to an emergency room. “Can you just take me home…? You can stay if you want, but I kinda think going home is the better choice right now.They'll find out if I go to an emergency room.”

“You're eighteen, Tyler. They aren't going to find out unless you tell them.”

“Tyler, I think you should go to an emergency room just in case. Like, to make sure you're not gonna die or anything.”

“It's going to cost money that I don't have though, Patrick.”

“I can talk to Pete. He's in a band and makes a little bit of money from playing shows, and Brendon has a part time job, right? We could talk to him too. And then you got Josh. Like, he actually has a full time job.”

“I don't got much in my bank account, but as long as it's under five thousand dollars, I can pay.” Josh looks as if he's about to cry, just from anxiety, and it makes Tyler feel terrible.

“Alright. Just—please, both of you promise not to tell my parents until I go home on Sunday.”

“You sure you don't just want to go home tonight…?” Josh furrows his brows.

“Yeah. I think I need a day or two to figure out something to tell them.”

“Alright.”

  


Josh just takes Tyler to the emergency room at the hospital that he works at. He talks with the nurse on duty, privately, about a few things, just to protect Tyler from possibly being outed. Tyler has to fill out a few forms, and has to show his driver's license just so the hospital can verify who he is.

It's scary. Nothing is wrong with him, aside from a few bruised ribs, and the visit ends up only costing eight hundred bucks, which is quite a bit better than what it could've cost.

On the way to his apartment, Josh takes Patrick home, and once he and Tyler are actually at the complex, he helps him up the few flights of stairs. “Do you want Advil or something?” Josh asks once Tyler's seated at the couch.

“God, yeah. My head hurts so fucking bad right now.” He nods, and disappears for a few minutes to retrieve aforementioned Advil.

After Tyler's taken the pills, and after Josh has quit pestering him about whether or not he's okay, they sit on his couch together, cuddling. “Do you want me to be with you when you talk to your parents or no…?”

“Yeah, actually. I'm not gonna come out, but you're like… calm all the time, and I'm not.”

“True.”

Josh ends up with his head in Tyler's lap, looking up at him lovingly and adoringly. Tyler plays with Josh's hair that's supposed to be getting dyed on Valentine's. (Yes, they're dying Josh's hair as a date, and Tyler is totally over the moon about it.)Tyler's left eye is just about swollen shut, and it hurts to move his face, but he finds himself quietly saying, “I think I might be in love with you, Josh.”

Josh cracks the slightest of grins. “I'd touch your face, but I don't wanna hurt you.”

“Thanks.”

“I think I _might_ be in love with you too. Just maybe.”

Tyler snorts and whacks Josh in the chest. “Thanks, asshole.”

Josh sticks his tongue out at Tyler.

  


Come nine, Tyler needs an ice pack for one of his eyes, and, tragically, Josh just so happens to be fresh out of sandwich baggies to hold ice in, along with ice packs in general, so he follows his boyfriend down a floor to ask the guy who lives below Josh if he had any spare icepacks or sandwich baggies. Tyler has met the man on a few occasions. He's tall, and he's kind of like Josh in which he's both super pretty, and super nice.

Tyler and Josh exchange a few glances when they hear the vague sounds of shouting coming from within the apartment. When the door opens, Tyler's greeted with a face full of Brendon wearing only a pair of briefs, all sweaty and kind of panting. He was expecting for Josh's neighbor to be standing there, but of course, it's his best friend. Josh gives Brendon one of those parental, “Would you like to explain yourself?” kind of looks.

Brendon doesn't even pay any attention Josh, because he's taking Tyler's face in his hands, thoroughly examining it. “What the fuck, Tyler? Are you alright?”

“I'm fine. I just got the shit kicked out of me. Look—I'm not even going to ask why you're here. I just want to know if Dylan or whatever his name is has any ice packs, because my eye hurts something fierce.”

  


Explaining to Tyler's parents that their eldest son had gotten into a fight without outing him is a little tough, but both Tyler and Josh manage it, and they also both manage to talk Tyler's parents into _not_ pressing charges.

  


Come ten in the morning on Valentine's, Tyler's sitting in his government class, trying not to fall asleep when it happens. _The thing._ One of the office aides had come into the room, carrying an obnoxiously large bouquet of lilacs, hyacinths, red and pink roses, and white gardenias. Along with that, the aide has a few balloon hearts containing cheesy text, and a teddy bear holding it's own stuffed heart, saying, “I love you,” in the center of it. Tyler spots the box of chocolates as the aide sets it down on the teacher's desk so he can pull out a slip to hand to the teacher.

Tyler's about to go back to dozing off, figuring the bundle is for one of the girls in the class, since a few of them had perked up, but when the teacher looks at him, motioning the aide towards his desk, Tyler starts to cave in on himself, sinking into his seat, thinking, _Oh, Josh, you motherfucker. You're dead._ Brendon and Pete are on either side of him, starting up a chant of, “Tyler, Tyler!” and, yeah, alright, he really wants to disappear now.

There's a note attached to the whole thing, and Tyler tears up a little bit from giddiness when he reads it.

  


_Lilacs for first love, hyacinths for sincerity, red and pink roses for love and appreciation, then white gardenias for joy. Don't ask me how I managed to find these flowers in the middle of February._

_-Josh._

  


  



	33. Chapter 33

tyler’s watching him with those eyes, and shes loving with that body i just know and hes holder her in his arms late late at night you know i wish that i had jessies girl 

context: i was writing the first bit and i was like "why does thiS SOUND FAMILIAR AND SHES LOVING HIM WITH THAT BODY I JUST KNOW IT--"

anyways thats it for this part


End file.
